


carrying the torch

by CandlesLight, Ireliss



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Forbidden Love, Harems, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Politics, Protective Erik, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandlesLight/pseuds/CandlesLight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireliss/pseuds/Ireliss
Summary: Fic collection of an AU where Charles and Erik are both members of Shaw’s harem. Erik has lived under Shaw’s thumb for most of his life after being captured in a failed rebellion. Charles is a new arrival to the harem, and already he has an agenda of his own. The bond they develop comes as a surprise to both of them, but now that they have each other, can they survive Shaw’s attentions?
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Sebastian Shaw, Sebastian Shaw/Charles Xavier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57





	1. Contents

This is a collection of fics set in the same universe. The fics are arranged in no particular order and largely independent of each other (unless otherwise noted), so it’s perfectly fine to just jump in and start reading whatever catches your eye. Content ranges from plot, porn with plot, to straight up dirtybadwrong. Enjoy!

Chapters

  1. Table of contents
  2. Party – Shaw is hosting a small social gathering. Erik and especially Charles are the entertainment of the night.
  3. Aftercare – H/C after a rough session with Shaw 
  4. Empath - Charles using his ability to keep people safe
  5. First times (part 1) - Charles/Erik + Shaw. Shaw has a gift for Erik. Largely PWP, voyeurism, inexperience, humiliation.
  6. Party (part 2) - H/C and aftercare after Shaw's party
  7. 5+1 - Erik at one of Shaw's performances, through the eyes of six different people
  8. ****NEW**** Trust - Erik learns there is more to Charles's ability than he has shown. 



Coming soon:

  * Beginnings - Charles' early days in the harem




	2. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is hosting a small social gathering. Erik and especially Charles are the entertainment of the night.

Charles doesn’t like Erik’s room. Outwardly, it’s much the same as his own: an opulent place of shimmering silks and rich velvet brocades, glittering precious metals and the softest pillows of down. But there’s a quiet sense of despair here, sunk deep into very walls. A psychic imprint, almost, a leaden weight that presses down on Charles’ telepathy.

Erik is on the settee, leafing slowly through a book. He looks up the instant Charles steps in, and although he doesn’t quite smile, Charles can feel a flicker of happiness in his mind that dissipates some of the gloom that clouds the room.

A shame that Charles is bringing news which will snuff out that spark. “Shaw wants us both to attend to him tonight.”

As predicted, Erik’s expression immediately goes dark and shuttered. “He’s been busy the past few days,” he says cautiously. “Preparing for the arrival of some diplomat party.”

Progress, at least. Several months ago, back when they had first met, Erik had retreated too deeply into himself to pay any notice to Shaw’s affairs. Charles gives an encouraging nod. “Yes, I’ve heard the same.”

“So we’re to be the entertainment of the night.” Erik’s mouth curls in a bitter, mirthless smile.

Sighing, Charles joins Erik on the settee. He touches Erik lightly on the upper arm, and when Erik doesn’t pull away, Charles gently tugs him closer until Erik’s head rests against his chest. “We’ll be fine,” he says, even as the quiet despair that suffuses the room settles over the two of them, inescapable. “We always are.”

Erik doesn’t answer. His thoughts are shrouded in grey.

It would be a comfort to stay like this, but a glance at the clock (an ornate metal affair, gifted to Erik by Shaw) shows they’re fast running out of time. Reluctantly, Charles pulls himself to his feet, but Erik doesn’t move, his eyes fixed on the tapestried walls of the room, lost in thought.

“Why don’t you help me get ready?” Charles suggests.

Erik shakes his head but rises anyway, coming to stand behind Charles. “Always so eager to humiliate yourself for the likes of Shaw.”

“It’s only humiliation if I allow it to be,” Charles says, with a certainty he does not wholly feel. He turns, grasping Erik’s hands and bringing it to the laces of his robes. “Quickly now, you know we can’t afford to keep Shaw and his party waiting.”

After a brief pause, Erik begins to undress Charles. His touch is deft and careful; Charles admires the elegance of his hands, having learnt to take pleasure in the small things. His modest robe falls open, and Erik slides it off his shoulders.

Charles keeps some of his things in Erik’s room – Shaw enjoys seeing them perform together of late – and Erik fetches one of his outfits now, a thing of gauzy blue silks and delicate golden embroidery threaded with precious stones. Although Charles can feel the first stirrings of helpless anger in Erik’s mind, Erik is as gentle as ever as he helps him into the outfit.

And, as Charles predicted, the need to _protect_ that blazes always in Erik’s thoughts is soothed when Erik begins to adorn him in delicate chains of metal. Erik had made most of the jewellery himself, twisting different alloys together with his power to form flowing, intricate shapes. The look of focus on his face is lovely to watch as Erik directs his power to mould the jewellery once more, subtly altering their shapes to better complement Charles’ current outfit.

The last touch is a few dabs of perfume, Erik’s fingers warm against the inside of his wrists, the base of his throat.

“Thank you,” Charles says, as Erik adjusts his necklaces one last time. Erik doesn’t respond, but Charles can see that some of the tension has left his shoulders.

It’s a short-lived victory, alas. Charles helps Erik with some pieces of his outfit, but towards the end, Erik pushes his hands away, tension vibrating through his body. By the time they head to the parlour where Shaw is entertaining his guests, the fight had drained out of Erik, leaving weary resignation in its wake.

One of Shaw’s guards announces their arrival, letting them into the parlour. Charles takes in the scene swiftly: it’s an informal gathering of some sort, Shaw and four of his guests arrayed around a round table. They recline in plush armchairs, glasses of brandy and cognac in their hands. One man holds a pipe, filling the room with a sweet, smoky scent.

Charles realizes with a start that he recognises one of the men: John Wilkes, a member of the minor nobility in Westchester and one of his late father’s vassals. The last time they had met, Charles must have been – thirteen? Fourteen? Yet Wilkes now looks at him with unmistakable interest, eyes roaming greedily up and down his body before focusing in on his lips. Charles looks demurely at the ground, but his mind is working at full speed.

The other men at the table he recognizes in passing, or by reputation. All of them were allies or subjects of Westchester. It’s no coincidence that they’re all here, that Shaw wants _him_ to be the one attending to his guests tonight. Some sort of test?

No, Charles realizes after a second. Shaw does not respect him enough to test him. This is merely a show of his power. A lesson, to drive home the fact he must now debase himself before the very people he should command by birthright.

He must be wearing his emotions more openly than he had thought, because Erik’s mind is prickling with concern. It’s a good thing that Shaw motions them forward at that moment. There’s a cushion next to him, Erik’s cushion, and Erik sinks down in a practiced movement to kneel there, head bowed and baring the back of his neck. Shaw sets one possessive hand there as he gestures Charles closer, whispering into his ear:

“You know what to do, I think.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hmm.” Shaw’s hand strokes up his back, jostling the silk and the delicate metal chimes. Next to him, Erik stirs, only to go still again as Shaw tightens his grip. “Yes. You’ll do well, I’m sure. You know the proper order to pay tribute in?”

Yes. No. Maybe. Cloistered away in Shaw’s harem, news of the outside world comes in an untidy patchwork – and he doesn’t want Shaw to suspect he knows more than he should. “If I could humbly request your guidance, my lord?”

Shaw whispers instructions into his ear, stroking Erik as he would a pet the entire time. The beginnings of nausea roil in Charles’ stomach, and he bites back the tide of helpless fury and indignation – this isn’t _fair,_ a childish part of him cries – and focuses on smiling and nodding, smiling and nodding.

(What must it be like for Erik to live like this day after day, year after year?)

Afterwards, Charles lowers himself to his knees the way he had been trained to do. He slips under the table, hidden by the thick drape of the tablecloth, unseen and unheard as is only proper. There is no cushion for him, and although Shaw’s parlour is furnished with lush carpeting, Charles knows his knees will be bruised by the end of the night.

Somewhere above him, muffled by the barriers of cloth and wood, Shaw says: “As promised, gentlemen, a demonstration of my hospitality.” The declaration is followed by a ripple of laughter and the clink of glasses.

It’s his cue to begin. Charles swallows. His mouth is suddenly, uncomfortably dry. _Come on now, enough of this,_ he scolds himself. This is one of the first skills Kurt had him trained in; this should be easy.

He makes himself move forward on his hands and knees, coming to a stop in front of the dignitary sitting at Shaw’s right. _Lord Raleigh,_ he recalls from the textbooks. From Newfordshire, a small county neighbouring Westchester. Raleigh is from a minor branch of the royal family, making him the most highly ranked person in this room next to Shaw.

Raleigh has his legs confidently spread. Charles forces himself to crawl that final distance and settle down between the older man’s legs. His training reasserts itself; Charles’s hands are steady when he reaches out, tracing the outline of the man’s cock through his breeches and finding that it’s already half-hard. He keeps his touch light, teasing. Overhead, the flow of conversation continues without pause.

Of course. Charles is hardly worthy of any attention. He’s nothing more than a commodity, an object, no different from the cognac or the smoking pipe.

Charles unlaces the man’s breeches and tugs down the undergarments, baring his cock. It’s hot under Charles’ fingers, throbbing in time with the lord’s pulse as Charles curls his hand around the shaft and begins to pump slowly, coaxing it to full hardness. _This is only another skill,_ Charles tells himself; it’s a technique to practice, like math or writing or the identification of migratory birds. He holds the thought in his mind as he bends forward, pressing a kiss against the tip of the man’s cock. Instantly, the taste of salt trickles onto his tongue. Charles exhales slowly, letting his breath ghost against the sensitive skin, then begins to draw his tongue in long, broad strokes down the underside, tracing the thick vein.

It gets easier the longer he keeps at it, his instinctive revulsion at the whole situation ebbing away to quiet acceptance. As he told Erik, they’ll make it through this. Charles keeps one hand wrapped around the base of the man’s cock, gripping firmly as he closes his lips around the tip and bobs his head, taking the whole length into his mouth inch by inch. His other hand cups the man’s balls, lavishing them with attention.

It’s – better, now, compared to before. All his attention is focused on the ache and stretch of his jaws, the musk filling his senses, the flex of his tongue and throat as he tries not to choke. It leaves him with less time to dwell on other things.

Unfortunately, Charles is well aware of the need to gather information when he has so many people important to Westchester’s interests all conveniently sitting in the same room. He casts the net of his telepathy wide. Immediately, he’s assaulted by Lord Raleigh’s lust. Vicious satisfaction rolls off him in waves, coloured by the contempt he feels for Charles. His mind is filled with memories of a conversation with Kurt Marko: _peace-loving weakling,_ Kurt had described Charles with a sneer. _Useless, except for his mouth._

Raleigh’s cock pushes deeper into his mouth. Charles’ throat works around it as he tries not to gag, his head filled with thoughts of _putting him in his place – getting what he deserves_ – then something hotter, primal – _so good, fuck–_

Charles digs his fingers into the carpet as come spurts down his throat, bitter and choking. He swallows, then swallows again, throat convulsing furiously around the thick intrusion. Some of it lands on his tongue; Charles grimaces at the taste, freer with his expressions since he’s tucked under the table and safely out of sight. He grimaces again as he eases himself away, then dutifully bows his head to finish licking the shaft clean, tucking Raleigh’s cock away once he’s finished. A feeling of satiation filters in through his telepathy – another job well done, Charles thinks, with a wry twist of his mouth.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Charles breathes in, slowly and deeply, tamping down the various discomforts making themselves known. He picks up the thread of the conversation. A discussion on wine imports, fine weather and good crops in North Carib, shame about the embargo on trade routes through the Hava Sea…

There’s a faint rustle of cloth as Erik joins him in the darkness under the table. The two of them exchange a glance, and for a second Charles sees himself through Erik’s eyes: flushed and strained, saliva gleaming wetly at the corner of his lips, a faraway look on his face. Then Erik turns away, tending to his own duties.

But his thoughts ring out, echoing with concern: _You look terrible._

_Why thank you._

_I’m serious. What’s wrong? I don’t usually see you so affected by Shaw’s games._

What is wrong, indeed? Charles licks his lips, tasting salt and musk. Almost, he can feel the weight of another cock heavy on his tongue. Three of them left, and it’s likely at least one of them will want a repeat performance before this little gathering is through. Something in him recoils; Charles quashes it down ruthlessly. He will survive this.

_I knew these men. Before. They’re all either allies or subjects of Westchester._

_Does Shaw know?_

_He must, mustn’t he?_ Charles turns away, inching on his knees to the next man. Behind him, he hears the rustle of cloth as Erik settles into position between Shaw’s legs. _Probably enjoys the thought of me on my knees for all of them, the sick bastard. To give credit where it’s due, this is a good move politically, for him and for my stepfather._

_What do you mean by that?_

Well, now they’ll never see him as anything more than Shaw’s whore, will they? But Charles keeps that thought to himself. Erik is as much a victim of circumstances as Charles is; he doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Charles’ helpless anger. _These events are a way of strengthening alliances, developing ties, so on and so forth. They don’t trust each other entirely, you see. Shaw especially has little love for baseline humans, and Kurt knows that._

_You’re hiding something from me._

A spike of impatience from the next man in line interrupts Charles as he’s searching for a response. He sends Erik a wave of reassurance as he leans forward, mouthing at the man’s half-hard cock through the fabric of his slacks, trying to convey a sense of apology.

For his troubles, he gets a hand fisted impatiently at his hair, yanking hard enough that Charles can’t quite stifle a gasp. It’s a soft noise, but it’s enough to draw Erik’s attention. The metal bracelet on Charles’ wrist constricts slightly, a comforting squeeze that is Erik’s way of reminding him that he isn’t alone.

_I’d kill him for you._

_I know, love. And you know that I’d rather you didn’t._

_Who is he anyway?_ There’s genuine curiosity in Erik’s mind, a desire to learn more about the politics at play.

_Friedrich Roehm._ Charles moves hurriedly now, exposing the man’s cock and closing his lips around the tip, tongue swirling skilfully around the flared head. _Head of his household. He’s nobility, but also an astute businessman – honestly, with his finances, he has more political clout than Raleigh, but Raleigh has royal blood, so custom dictates that he takes precedence over Roehm._

He can feel Erik digesting the information, mind flickering quickly through a mix of curiosity-bewilderment-disgust as he mulls over the complex protocols that control when and how Charles should debase himself. They’re both quiet for the next few minutes as they tend to their respective tasks. Charles focuses his energy on tracking the course of the conversation at the table, even as he continues to suck and lick, suck and lick, until the entire shaft is spit-slick and all he can taste is the salt of sweat and precome. Again, he takes Roehm’s cock into his mouth, groaning softly in a show of appreciation that is not entirely feigned.

(Charles _hates_ that he’s been reduced to this, hates that this is all so normal to him by now that he sometimes gets off to it, senses overwhelmed by the roil of lust in the air and the heat and _need_ of physical contact.)

He swallows dutifully when Roehm finishes, although by then his eyes are watering from the strain and the darkness under the table is blurry. His knees ache. A quick glance shows that Erik is also done and is now stretched on the ground in front of Shaw, one of Shaw’s feet propped up against his back, the other digging into his neck.

Anger surges in Charles, powerful enough that Erik must have felt it, because one of the metal bracelets around his wrist squeezes again. _Leave it, Charles. Tell me more about the rest of these imbeciles._

_Erik! Some of these are very accomplished gentlemen._ His work would be so much easier if everyone opposing him is as dull as Cain. Instead, every member of this delegation is cunning and powerful and wealthy in his own way; Kurt had been sure to select people that can hold their own in negotiations against Shaw.

_If they’re stupid enough to try negotiating with Shaw, then they’re imbeciles,_ comes the dry retort.

Charles’ mouth twitches in a fond smile, knowing Erik is trying to distract him. It isn’t quite working, but he appreciates the attempt. _Do you want to hear about them or not?_

_Fine, fine._

_To start with, this next man –_ Charles moves across the floor on hands and knees – _his name is John Wilkes, he’s the second son of a minor noble in Westchester._ _His family owns little land, but Wilkes has always been good at ingratiating himself to those in power. He corresponded with my father regularly. My biological father, that is._

_Your father trusted him?_

Charles purses his lips as he begins his service once more, memories of the past overlapping with the present, disorienting and surreal. _Not completely, I don’t think. Certainly not as much as Kurt Marko does._ He remembers his youth, remembers being barely more than a child, looking up at Wilkes and thanking him graciously as Wilkes offered him a beautifully wrapped package. A book on horsemanship, Wilkes had said with a wink and a smile, just the thing for a clever growing boy. _Kurt has always been more susceptible to flattery than my father, and Wilkes is terribly accomplished at telling people what they want to hear._

It’s getting stuffy in this dark, enclosed space under the table. Charles’ breath is coming a little too fast. His nostrils flare, trying to draw in enough oxygen as Wilkes’ cock pushes past his lips, filling his mouth completely.

Overhead, somebody is talking about the trade in pleasure slaves. Wilkes? No–

Past and present blur together again as he brushes against Wilkes’ thoughts, and he sees himself in Wilkes’ memory, a pale boy who looks young for his age, full of animated chatter and his eyes a lively, sparkling blue.

Then he sees that same boy on his knees, whimpering in helpless pleasure as he sucks first on Wilkes’ fingers, then his cock…

Past and present, memory and fantasy – they all churn together. Charles feels a sudden, vicious clench of nausea.

_Charles? Charles, what’s wrong?_

It’s too much. He can’t keep track of so many conversations all at once. He can’t reconcile the boy he was with the man he is now.

_Charles!_

He slams shut his mental connection to Erik. Distantly, he feels Erik’s alarm, then the bracelet on his wrist tightens again, and Charles cracks open the door of their bond just long enough to say _I’m fine, sorry, I’m sorry, I just need some space._

Erik relents, unhappy but grudgingly accepting. Charles puts him out of his mind for now, honing his focus into a sharp point. He forces himself to ignore the lurid mix of memory and pouring from Wilkes’ mind, locking it all away to be dealt with later – if ever. Focus on the conversation, now, he might have missed valuable information already, best to make up for it, the sooner the better…

Time floats by in a dream-like haze, his head filled with discussions of trade routes and alliances, news of seething feuds and wars fought in faraway lands. His body moves of its own accord, methodically sucking and licking, filling the darkness under the table with quiet, wet noises. His knees hurt. His jaw aches. His _back_ hurts, the muscles cramping fiercely. It’s as though he’s caught in a never-ending loop, moving back and forth, having his mouth stuffed full and then _filled,_ until it feels like he’s choking on spit and come again and again, his throat working itself raw in convulsive little swallows.

Eventually, the conversation slows. Niceties are exchanged. Charles rests, forehead pressed against the carpeted floor, trying to catch his breath. He’s drowning. Lust and arousal, a violent haze, his mind clouding. The quiet sound of chairs scraping against the carpet. Erik’s concern beating down on him. Footsteps, dispersing guests.

“Well done,” comes Shaw’s voice. “You especially, Charles. Come on out now.”

Charles bites back a quiet groan. He doesn’t want to move. He’s hot all over, hair mussed and a few dark locks sticking to his forehead; he knows he must look a right mess. Worst of all is the awareness that he’s _still_ half-hard, something impossible to hide considering the flimsy silks that clothe him.

But there’s no choice. He can feel the currents of Erik’s power running through the metal that adorns him, gently supportive. Erik tugs at the jewellery, coaxing him into a low crouch, then finally into emerging from under the table.

The lighting in the room is only at moderate levels, but Charles squints anyway, the brightness jarring after the enclosed darkness. Shaw is still in his seat, a glass held carelessly in his hand, half-filled with the rich golden brown of cognac. Erik is kneeling on his cushion again, head bowed.

Even as Charles composes his expression into a charming – if strained – smile, dread coils in his gut. Shaw has the look of a man settled into his seat, waiting for another show.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Shaw drawls. His eyes drag slowly over Charles’ form, settling on the tell-tale signs of his arousal. “Look at you. You enjoyed yourself. I’m pleased, very pleased.”

Smile. Smile. Be professional. “Thank you, my lord. If there’s nothing else…?”

Shaw pets Erik indulgently, hand stroking down the back of Erik’s neck. Charles can see Erik tense, knuckles white. “I think you both deserve a reward, hmm? Erik has served me faithfully for so many years, and you, Charles! The number of compliments I’ve heard about that pretty mouth of yours just today alone! You’ve both done so well.” He looks down at Erik. “Up on your feet now, pet.”

Erik obeys, and now Charles is the one to worry, because Erik’s mind is utterly closed off to him, hollow despair swallowing everything else.

“Sit there, that’s it,” Shaw says, guiding Erik into one of the armchairs. Erik crosses his legs, only for Shaw to place his hands on his thighs, spreading them apart with a casual flex of his superhuman strength, powerful enough to make Erik wince. “Charles, you know what to do.”

Delaying will only make this worse. Still, it goes against all of Charles’ instincts to lock away his fatigue and drop smoothly to his knees, seduction in the sway of his hips as he moves forward in a sinuous motion, closing the gap between himself and Erik. He forces himself to glance coyly up at Shaw. It wouldn’t do for someone as egotistical as Shaw to feel neglected, especially when this show is all for his benefit.

Shaw makes an approving noise deep in his throat. His eyes lid with satisfaction as he takes a slow sip of his cognac, watching with an indulgent smile as Charles bares Erik to his gaze.

_Sorry,_ Charles sends.

Erik’s eyes are blank. His cock is completely soft. _Just get it over with._

Charles uses his hands first. Touching Erik is always a pleasure – sometimes a guilty one, yes, in a situation like this – but he likes the feeling of Erik’s skin against his hand, likes the feel of his length and girth. He likes the way Erik doesn’t make demands, doesn’t yank his hair or fuck into his mouth.

Slowly, very slowly, Erik’s cock begins to stiffen under his grip, even though Erik is utterly rigid in his chair, and not a hint of desire emanates from his mind. Charles does not take it personally. This is business, survival, nothing more than that. He moves closer, blue silks shimmering apart to reveal a glimpse of thigh as he tilts his head and licks a broad stripe up the underside of Erik’s cock, then flicks his tongue teasingly across the slit, lapping up the precome beading there.

Erik groans, minute. Encouraged, Charles repeats the motion, alternating the swipe of his tongue with long, languid pulls of his fisted hand, smearing saliva and precome against Erik’s shaft, until it’s slick enough that it’s easy to continue pumping at Erik’s cock with one hand while he tilts his head further and begins to mouth at Erik’s balls. He breathes in Erik’s scent, laced with the fragrance of rosewood that Shaw likes to have Erik wear. Even here, Shaw is inescapable.

“Let’s hurry it up a bit, hmm?” Shaw’s voice cuts into the scene, an unwelcome invader. “Suck him properly now, I think our darling pet is getting impatient.”

With Shaw’s quiet croons of _that’s it, look at you, you’re so good at this_ buzzing in his ears, Charles slowly takes Erik into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Erik is so _big;_ Charles loves the size of him, he always has.

And yet.

And yet, the person in front of him doesn’t _feel_ like Erik. The glittering facets of his mind have all gone dark and opaque. He doesn’t feel much like anyone, really; Charles could be sucking on one of Shaw’s toys, something inanimate, lifeless, thoughtless. Charles does his best anyway, putting on a show for Shaw as he moans around the cock in his mouth like he loves nothing better than being on his knees, being of service like a good little pet. _Let this be over soon,_ he prays. Before Shaw gets any more ideas. Carefully, he sends a questing tendril of his power towards Erik’s mind. _Erik, Erik, let me help you, please._

_Do what you want._

Slipping into Erik’s mind is like stepping into a mire. There is a sickly green-grey cast to his thoughts, a smog of deliberate, studied indifference he had cultivated to keep himself sane throughout all these years.

It breaks Charles’ heart. He forges on, pressing carefully at a particular spot in Erik’s mind, yes, there–

Erik’s whole body shudders with a ragged exhale as he comes. Charles swallows methodically, the bitterness barely registering as his own mind starts to drift. Perhaps it’s something of Erik’s thoughts clinging to him, but all of a sudden he’s incredibly weary, and every aching part of his body makes itself known. His jaw, his knees, even his back and his shoulders, all locked up with tension…

“Clean him up now, you’ve done so well.”

Methodically, Charles obeys, drawing back just enough to lick Erik clean with gentle strokes of his tongue against the warm, soft skin. He tries to fill his senses with Erik and nothing but Erik, drowning out the predatory interest he feels emanating from Shaw’s mind.

It’s futile. A delaying of the inevitable. Already, Charles’ pulse is ratcheting up, knowing what’s about to come even as he takes his time with Erik, clinging to this moment of quiet stasis.

“That’s enough. Come here.”

Concern flashes sharply in Erik’s mind, piercing through the haze. _What does he want?_

_Don’t worry. We’ll make it through._

He helps Erik get decent again (well, relatively speaking), before getting back on his feet and trying to ignore the dull soreness throbbing through his joints and the muscle of his calves. “My lord?”

“Here, Charles.” Shaw pats his thigh. “And you,” he glances at Erik, “leave us for now, pet.”

Horror and denial flood Erik’s mind, snuffing out the exhausted apathy. Charles gives him a sharp, quelling look, along with a mental reminder to _be careful, please._ Shaw already suspects the relationship between them is closer than it should be. The last thing Charles wants to do is give Shaw even more ammunition.

_You’re not seriously telling me to leave you? You know I can’t._

_You can and you will. There’s nothing you can do here, Erik, and we both know it._

_…I know._ That brief spark of rebellion fades, and Charles’ heart aches to see it go out, even if he knows it’s for the best. Erik stands carefully, smoothing down his clothes. _But you’ll call for help if he steps over the line. Promise me._

What line, the cynical part of Charles thinks. But he sends Erik a vague sense of agreement anyway, and for a moment their despair entangles together, echoing, amplifying, like a cry for help bouncing off the walls of a dark cave.

But they have work to do. Charles steps lightly over to Shaw, hips swaying, his despair once more firmly pushed down. _This won’t last forever. That, I promise you._

Erik doesn’t reply, his mind gone dark. He bows to Shaw and departs. The room is emptier without him there, and colder too, somehow, but Charles can feel Erik’s power thrumming through the metal jewellery he wears and he knows he is not entirely alone.

Charles smiles as he arranges himself artfully onto Shaw’s lap, and he keeps smiling as Shaw’s hands slide under the diaphanous blue silks to squeeze at his thigh. He sighs lowly, feigning pleasure. “How may I serve you, my lord?”

With a chuckle, Shaw nuzzles at Charles’ neck, teeth grazing at his skin. Charles tries not to think about the violence Shaw is capable of. He moans again, wiggling a little. Shaw’s erection is rubbing against the cleft of his ass, and although Shaw is still fully clothed, Charles can still feel the heat of him against his back. Sweat beads at Charles’ temples, and he shivers as a warm puff of Shaw’s breath tickles at his ear.

“Do you want to come, Charles? Sweetheart.” Shaw’s hand creeps higher, then he wraps his fingers around the base of Charles’ cock, giving it a slow pump.

Charles gasps, then bites at his bottom lip. It feels so good – he _hates_ it when Shaw’s touch feels good, he hates the way his body has been trained to betray him.

But enough self-pity. Dealing with Shaw is never an easy thing; Shaw can be mercurial, angered by too much servility and too much cheek both. Not even his telepathy helps, considering Shaw doesn’t even know what he wants half the time. Biting his lip again, Charles carefully gathers up the draping layers of silks, lifting them away to reveal more of his bare skin to Shaw’s roving gaze. Shaw rumbles his approval, grinding his erection against Charles’ ass.

“I want you,” Charles forces himself to say, arching against Shaw.

“Is that so.” Shaw pumps his cock again, slow and languid, and Charles’ breath hitches unwillingly. “Then I should give you what you want, should I?”

“Please.” Better him than Erik.

“Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

As Shaw slicks his fingers with spit, Charles closes his eyes, guiding himself through his usual mental exercises to relax his muscles and detach himself from the situation.

He will survive this.


	3. Aftercare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H/C after a rough session with Shaw.

Erik bit his lip so that he didn't cry, staring down at the figure in his arms. Charles's body was limp, his head lolling backwards, and he could barely hear the thoughts that were being sent his way.  
_Stop worrying. I'm.... I'm fine._ A lie that would have been more convincing if Charles had been able to stay conscious for long enough to complete the thought. 

Shaw smirked, reaching out and tucking one sweat-dampened strand of hair behind Erik's ear.  
"That was fun, wasn't it?" 

His voice was gentle, but Erik knew that reluctance to answer, or saying the wrong thing, would come with consequences, and that right now Charles wasn't strong enough to endure them. He fought the nausea that filled him, and the way that his body was shaking, tilting his head into the touch and pressing a kiss to the soft perfumed skin of Shaw's palm.  
"Yes, my lord."

"Such a good pet," Shaw praised, patting Erik's hair like he was an animal, and Erik closed his eyes for a few brief seconds, pushing down his rage and focusing on Charles in his arms. "Go and get that cleaned up. I'd like him to join me for dinner later, and I want him to be beautiful."

Erik stared. Dinner would be in three hours, and there was no way that Charles would be presentable by then - and worse, Shaw knew it. This was just another game, and Erik knew he'd already lost. 

He licked his lips, glancing up and then ducking his head, trying to find the lies within him that came so easily to Charles's lips.  
"Please, I... It feels like you've forgotten me, my lord. Is... do you really wish for him..."

"My dear boy," Shaw leaned in, and kissed him, and Erik didn't allow himself to shy away. "I suppose I have been neglecting you. I'll see you at dinner. Wear something nice for me, my pet, I have some friends visiting."

"Thank you, my lord." Erik murmured, keeping his head bowed, tracking Shaw's presence by the buttons of the other man's shirt, until he'd left them, and he gathered Charles up into his arms.

He knew Charles had said no to medical treatment before, so he couldn't go to Hank - that would have to be reserved for a day when the injuries were worse than this. He carried him carefully down the hallways, towards the baths.

Janos was there when he arrived, but he took one look at Charles and moved out of the water, tilting his head curiously.

"Nothing." Erik answered his silent question. There was nothing they needed that Janos could provide. Nothing Janos could do to help. Janos nodded and walked away.

He stripped off what remained of his own clothing, placing Charles down beside the water, and then stepped into it, feeling the heat relax aching muscles.  
He reached for Charles, using the chains around his ankles and the bracelets at his wrist to help support him as he lowered him into the perfumed water, pulling him against his chest, stroking his fingers through Charles's hair. 

Charles whimpered, pressing into the touch, and Erik tried to concentrate. He didn't really know how telepathy worked, but he had to try.  
_I'm here. You're safe. I'm here. He's gone. You can rest._ That at least was true - when Charles was clean he could take him to his room, rest him on silk sheets, and try to ensure his comfort, before he headed down to the meal.

Charles's eyes flickered open, gazing up at him, and Erik smiled.  
"Hey there... you were out for a bit..."

"Tired," Charles murmured.

"I know..."  
_Telepathy?_ he asked, and Charles nodded and yawned, his spine curving as he tried to cling to Erik, his body trembling.

_I was going to tell you._

_No, this is good, it means we can talk._

Glancing around to ensure no attendants were near, Erik pressed a kiss to Charles's forehead.  
"You're okay. You can rest now. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have hesitated." Shaw would have been kinder if Erik hadn't disobeyed.

Charles looked at him kindly, with those impossibly blue eyes full of fondness.  
"It's alright, Erik."

Erik shivered. He'd forgotten what it was like to be called by his name, until Charles said it so easily. He blinked back tears, and tried to force his body to stop shaking.

"Can we cuddle?" Charles asked, and the question was so innocent that it broke Erik's heart anew.

"I'm afraid I've got to go and join him for dinner. But we'll.. we'll get you cleaned up. And you can rest tonight."

Charles looked at him, and Erik was sure Charles knew why it was Erik that was going to spend the meal at Shaw's feet. But he didn't question it.

"I don't think you're bleeding much," Erik promised. "I'll check, but... I don't think so." If he was, then he could fashion a needle, steal some thread from his garments. He'd sewn up his own wounds often enough.

"I'm not." Charles squeezed his hands. "You were gentle. Thank you, Erik."

Erik took a deep breath, and nodded, trying not to cry. It wasn't right, Charles thanking him for being careful when he'd hurt him. But none of this was right at all. He took a few more breaths, until the urge for tears had passed, then cleared his throat.  
"Come on, let me wash your hair." 

That, at least, he could give him.


	4. Empath

Charles survived by feigning being an empath. By convincing Shaw that there was nothing more to him than the ability to sense and react to another's emotions. It was a dangerous game. It would be easy to overstep, to make a mistake and be punished for it, but he tried, because it was the only way he could survive.

He didn't demonstrate his true ability - not for Shaw, not for anyone. Erik knew, and the two of them would converse late in the night, and Charles smiled each time he felt Erik's thoughts growing stronger, his hope starting to blossom after so long surviving only by refusing to die. 

But there were times his ability came in useful. Much of the time Charles kept his ability wrapped around himself, trying to prevent himself sensing the others' fear. It only made his own worse. In an emergency though, it was a powerful weapon.

Shaw had summoned him, but he wanted to find a particular item for Charles to use. He led, expecting Charles to follow, and went to a barely used store room.   
"I'm sure I left it somewhere -" 

He pushed open the door, and Charles felt a sudden flood of anger, overwhelming his shields. Through the gaps in the shielding poured terror and distress, and he looked over to find that this room had been repurposed by Azazel and Janos. It would have been deadly enough had they been caught in a passionate embrace. But the two of them were sat, playing at having a tea party with little Kurt.

Shaw's tirade nearly knocked Charles from his feet. He struck Janos, knocking him to the floor, telling him that if he liked serving the guards so much he would be given to them. Then he turned on his bodyguard. The threats he gave were sickening. Even if he hadn't already known the man to be a monster, this would have proven it. Worst of all was when he stared at the toddler, and pointed out that with Janos's new role there would be space in the harem.

Charles reached out, freezing Shaw, making him forget ever seeing anyone in the room. He reached back further, taking his memories of Kurt, making sure he had no idea the boy existed, and planting the idea that Azazel and Janos didn't get on. He cleared the memory of this encounter from Kurt's mind as well - the little boy had started to cry at the shouting.

He looked at Janos, and Azazel.  
"He won't remember this. But don't get caught again."

Azazel bowed, reaching for his lover's hand, and grabbing his son by the tail, and then they were gone. A moment later, Charles released his grip on Shaw.  
"-somewhere around here." Shaw continued.

Shaw believed Charles to be an empath. That kept them all safe.


	5. First times (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles/Erik + Shaw. Shaw has a gift for Erik. Largely PWP, voyeurism, inexperience, humiliation.

The first time Charles has sex with Erik goes like this:

It is late in the evening and the halls of the harem are quiet. Everyone has been locked into their rooms for the night. Inside the walls of his gilded cage, Charles reads by lamplight, trying to soothe his futile worries with the slow turn of pages. He reads of pea plants and honeybees, reads the same line over and over again, his bubbling nervousness refusing to be calmed. Will Shaw send for him tonight? It’s been a few days since the last time Shaw had decided to, ah, exercise his rights. Without the attention of his new master, Charles is left feeling unmoored, caught wrong-footed and unsure of his place.

So much for all his grand ambitions of returning to Westchester in triumph and overthrowing Kurt Marko. Three weeks into his stay in the harem, and what has he accomplished? It–

_Crack._

Charles swears in a most undignified way as brimstone and red smoke clear to reveal Azazel. Shaw’s favourite henchman grins down at him, tail making idle loops through the air.

“You look comfortable,” he drawls. “But it is time to get up. His Majesty has asked for you. I will be back for you in…twenty minutes, yes?”

And before Charles can agree, Azazel vanishes as quickly as he had come.

Permitting himself a groan of frustration, Charles rakes his hands through his hair before clambering to his feet. Inwardly, though, there’s a strange sense of relief that comes with knowing how the rest of his night will go instead of being left to wonder for hours and hours on end.

Right. No time to lose. He changes briskly from his nightclothes into the flimsy silks Shaw had gifted him last week. Next comes the jewellery, the heavy metal and precious stones weighing down on him like chains. Charles hesitates after that, eyes flickering to the ornate table mirror, then to the set of cedarwood drawers by his bedside. How much does Shaw expect him to prepare? There’s a phial of oil inside the drawers, along with a variety of sexual devices. Does Shaw expect him to make use of them?

Charles likes to think he’s a practical man, not a squeamish one, and certainly not a prude. But despite all the training Kurt put him through, something in him balks at the thought of preparing himself for Shaw’s use like a common whore. Perhaps it’s pride, unwarranted and troublesome. Or perhaps it’s fear, fear of Shaw, fear of being used, fear of the unknown…

In the end, Charles ignores the chest of drawers and sits in front of the mirror instead. He lines his eyes with dark kohl to better bring out their blue, then dusts his cheeks with rogue. His lips are red enough already; he worries at his lower lip anyway, a nervous habit he can’t break.

By the time Azazel comes back for him, Charles is running a comb through his hair, taming the dark curls into some semblance of artfully dishevelled order.

“Looking nice,” Azazel says appreciatively. But he knows better than to leer, and his grip is firm and professional as he takes Charles by the upper arm and teleports the two of them to Shaw’s door. By the time Charles shakes off the disorientation (and the utter _fascination_ , he’ll never get tired of it) caused by the abrupt teleport, Azazel is gone already.

Charles takes a second to compose himself, carefully smoothing down his silks. At the same time, he casts his mind out, past the closed door, trying to gauge Shaw’s mood.

To his surprise, there are _two_ minds behind the door. Shaw, and…Erik? What is Erik doing here?

Charles has only spoken to Erik once, back when Erik made him the bracelet he now wears, but even that short meeting had been enough for Charles to note that Erik had an uncommon intensity to his thoughts. Right now, the churn of _rage-despair-trepidation_ vibrating through Erik’s mind is so powerful as to be nauseating, and it only grows stronger once Erik registers Charles’ presence by the metal he’s wearing. Charles draws back from his mind, not wanting to be overwhelmed, but the dark, anticipatory lust emanating from Shaw’s mind is no easier to bear.

In the end, Charles keeps his telepathy coiled close, and knocks on the door.

“About time. Come in,” Shaw calls at once.

Charles opens the door and steps into the room, keeping his head humbly bowed. Through his lashes, he can see Shaw lounging confidently on his massive bed, enjoying his usual nightcap.

But what’s strange is Erik’s presence. Erik is on the bed as well, but he’s sitting normally rather than splayed out for Shaw’s pleasure, and he’s holding a glass in his long-fingered hands. Instead of provocative silks, Erik is dressed in a tunic of fine quality with soft lambswool breeches to match. Looking like this, with the cut of his jaw and the quiet strength in his posture, Erik could be a nobleman’s son rather than a slave. The impression only strengthens when Shaw pats Erik on the back in a gesture that’s strangely paternal.

“You’ve met Charles before, haven’t you?” Shaw says, all his attention focused on Erik. Charles may as well be part of the furniture.

Erik’s eyes stay fixed on the glass in his hands. “Yes.”

“He’s a lovely thing, isn’t he? Lovely – and almost untouched.” Shaw motions Charles closer with a negligent wave of his hand, but his eyes never leave Erik. “I thought he would make a fine present for you. Happy birthday, son.”

Surprise sparks in Erik’s mind, followed by deep, seething hatred. _This isn’t my birthday,_ his thoughts shout. _Bastard – making me celebrate the day of my capture–_

None of Erik’s fury shows beyond a clench of his jaw, so subtle as to almost be unnoticeable. But Shaw sees. It’s a struggle for Charles to keep his expression placid as Shaw’s mind fills with sick delight and the beginnings of threat.

“Does he not please you?” Shaw hums. “Shall I use him myself, and fetch someone else for you?”

Erik grits his teeth again. “No. Don’t. It’s fine.”

“You should be more grateful,” Shaw chides. “You’ve never had a virgin before, have you? Not that,” he smiles, “Charles is one. But he’s close enough that you should find this most enjoyable.”

Shaw motions Charles even closer, more impatiently this time. “Fetch the oil, you should remember where it is. Then come show my boy what you can do.”

It takes a conscious effort to move slow and self-assured, seductive, but a quick peek into Shaw’s mind shows that Shaw is well-pleased with the view as Charles glides forward to retrieve the oil, then slips into the bed to join Shaw and Erik. Shaw is all but broadcasting his fantasies; Charles swallows down his hesitation and sidles forward to straddle Erik, looping his arms around Erik’s shoulders before turning to face Shaw and await further instruction.

“What a pretty picture the two of you make. Go on, Erik, son, why don’t you lay him on his back and get him ready?”

Erik’s face is a blank mask, but strangely enough his mind projects _comfort,_ of all things.

…Of course. Erik thinks he’s an empath; he must be trying to reassure him. Charles risks giving him a brief smile as Erik’s careful hands rest against his hip, guiding him briskly to lie on the bed. Shaw’s bedsheets are of fine red silk, finer even than the sheets Charles had in Westchester; the glide of the fabric is wonderfully soft and smooth against his skin. Charles tries to focus on that instead of how terribly _naked_ he feels lying on his back, vulnerable throat and stomach all bared as Erik looms over him.

Shaw enters his field of view as well, one possessive hand resting on Erik’s waist. “He’s all yours. Go on, undress him, touch him.”

Erik’s mouth thins, the permanent frown never leaving his face. Briskly, he unknots the sash tied around Charles’ waist, only for Shaw to grip Erik by the wrists, holding him in place. “You’re acting like this is a chore. Slow down and enjoy yourself, you don’t want to make Charles feel unwanted, do you?”

“I want him,” Erik says evenly, but his eyes are cold and fear sparks in his mind.

“Do you really? Show me.”

This time, when Erik touches him, his hands trail along Charles’ skin in lingering strokes. A graceful flick of his fingers undoes the metal clasp that holds together the sheer draping fabric of Charles’ robes. Erik carefully undresses him, agonizingly slow, letting the silks whisper across Charles’ skin until Charles is trembling from an intoxicating mix of tension and anticipation. His nipples are hard, and he has to bite back a startled gasp when Erik takes one of them between his teeth and plays his tongue against the peak.

Above him, Shaw’s eyes glitter with satisfaction. Erik keeps his head bowed, never once looking Charles in the eye as he trails kisses down Charles’ navel – _fuck,_ that’s ticklish, mustn’t laugh, mustn’t laugh – and another flex of Erik’s power undoes the remaining clasps holding Charles’ outfit together, and finally he’s entirely bared to their eyes. It takes all his self-control not to curl into himself. Erik helps, his hands planted solidly against Charles’ thighs, stopping him from moving and displeasing Shaw.

“What do you think?” Another hand creeps up his thigh. Shaw’s hand, groping and squeezing. “Look at all that lovely white skin, he’d take a beating well, don’t you think?”

Erik makes a non-committal noise, but fear flashes through his mind before he pulls that frail projection of comfort back into place. _I don’t want to hurt you,_ he thinks fiercely, unaware that Charles can hear him.

“He’s yours to enjoy as you like. Just try to leave him in one piece, hmm?”

“He’s been – good,” Erik says stiffly. “Why punish him for his obedience?”

Shaw chuckles. “Oh, my boy. All these years, and there’s still so much I can teach you about pleasure. This isn’t about punishment or what he does or doesn’t _deserve._ The only thing that matters here is what you want.” His hand closes around Erik’s wrist. “I know you. I’ve practically raised you. I know all about the anger inside you. All that violence, just searching for a way out. Well, here’s your chance.”

Shaw’s fingertips dig into his thigh and Charles can’t hold back this time; he yelps, high and loud, as Shaw’s grip tightens with superhuman strength and five pinpricks of pain sear into his flesh.

“Stop!” Erik snarls, then immediately composes himself again, bowing his head. “I’m not interested in hurting someone I don’t know. You understand.”

“Is that so,” Shaw says softly, and the two of them share a long look that Charles is unable to decipher. Erik is the first to look away. Shaw smiles thinly. “Then you should get to know him better. Go on.”

Charles’ heart is beating frantically in his ribcage. There’s so much tension suffocating the room, the weight of history joining Erik and Shaw together like a length of red cord. He is merely a stage prop here, another chess piece in Shaw’s game as he corners Erik and bends him to his will.

And, just like any good stage prop, now is his time to be used. He is still holding the vial of oil; Erik pries it from his nervous grasp. There’s a soft _pop_ as it is uncorked, and Charles can’t bear it anymore, briefly closing his eyes as his cheeks flame with embarrassment at the thought of what’s going to come next.

“He’s sweet, isn’t he?” Shaw croons. “Look at him, all flushed already, and we’ve barely gotten started.”

Erik doesn’t reply. Charles’ heart races faster and faster as he hears the quiet noises of Erik slicking his fingers.

“Go on, spread him out, let’s see if he’s worth the price I paid for him.”

Firm hands brace against his thighs. _Don’t fight it._ Charles’ breathing grows ragged as he fights to keep his body pliant, even though every instinct is urging him to kick and struggle. Clenching his fists against the silken bedsheets, he allows Erik to spread his legs apart.

Oh, god. Nothing’s been done to him yet, but already the shame is crushing him. How has he been reduced to _this?_

“I think he’s trying to hide from us. Get him to open his eyes, I want to see the look on his face as you enjoy him.”

“You heard him,” comes Erik’s quiet growl. _Don’t make this harder for both of us,_ he’s praying to himself, and Charles reluctantly opens his eyes.

Shaw smiles down at him. “There we go. Admire him, son.”

Charles’ telepathy snags against Shaw’s thoughts. He sees himself through Shaw’s eyes: dazed eyes and creamy untouched skin, a charming blush spreading all the way from his cheeks down his chest, the pucker of his hole between his spread legs. Then Shaw’s attention fixates on Erik again, watching the sheen of oil against Erik’s fingers.

“Go on, he’s ready for you.”

Erik’s mind blares _comfort_ again, and Charles almost wishes he could tell him not to bother – it rings false, a flaking patina overlaying the unfathomable depths of Erik’s despair.

The first drag of Erik’s fingers against his hole makes Charles hiss, legs trembling with the effort of keeping still. Neither Shaw or Erik seem to notice; Shaw too busy watching Erik, and Erik still never once _looks_ at him, not really. The oil is warm from Erik’s hands, strange and slippery against his entrance as Erik continues to circle his fingers against the rim until Charles wants to scream from the mounting tension.

Evidently Shaw feels the same. His hand shoots out to grab Erik’s hand, roughly shoving it forward, and both Charles and Erik hiss simultaneously as Erik’s fingers breach the tight ring of muscle, nails catching against the delicate skin of the inner walls. Charles can’t stop the jerk of his limbs – fuck, he’ll never get used to this, there else’s someone’s fingers _inside him,_ a virtual stranger _touching_ him – and his mouth falls open, drawing in a gasping breath.

Erik breathes out harshly too, and Shaw laughs, still not letting go of his wrist. He sets a steady pace for all three of them, forcing Erik to thrust his fingers in a slow, measured rhythm, and each drag of Erik’s fingers in and out of his twitching hole has Charles clutching tighter at the bedsheets.

Then Erik starts crooking his fingers, scissoring them, and Charles can’t hold back the strangled noise that escapes him. Too much – it’s too much; he tries to twist away, to curl into himself, but that only makes his muscles bear down against the digits inside him, until he thinks he can feel every bump of Erik’s knuckles, every inch of his fingers, inescapable.

Dimly, above him, he hears Shaw’s voice saying: “Delightful, he’ll be so wonderfully tight when you’re inside him. Shall I hold him down for you?”

“No. I – no.”

“Are you sure? It’ll be no trouble.”

The thought of being at Shaw’s mercy (well, even more than he already is) sends a chill running through Charles. He goes still, and Shaw laughs. “He has some sense, I’ll give him that. Well? Go on.”

_Sorry,_ Erik thinks, but he doesn’t hesitate to push another finger into Charles, who forces himself to keep still this time as Erik works him open, meticulous and relentless. He’s hot all over, sweat collecting down his back, and no matter what Erik does he still feels so damn _tight._ His muscles refuse to obey him, spasming and clenching even as Erik uses more oil, massaging carefully at his inner walls until Charles is overheated inside and out, body trembling from the constant stimulation.

Shaw stirs, his shadow falling over Charles, and he knows they’ve run out of time. Erik is pushing _calm, relax, calm_ at him, and Charles grasps gratefully at those emotions, fabricated as they are. _Calm. Don’t make this harder for yourself._

Charles’ watches with helpless fascination as Erik unlaces his breeches, pulling out his cock. It looks so _big,_ bigger than Shaw’s, and it’s growing even longer and thicker as Erik warms more oil in the palm of his hands and begins to jerk himself to full hardness. _Fuck._ Panic is making his muscles seize up again, thoughts of _it’s too big, he won’t fit, fuck this is going to hurt_ beating around inside his head.

“Come on, relax,” Erik mutters out loud. He pushes Charles’ thighs further apart and guides the head of his cock to Charles’ entrance. Charles jumps, flinching, and Erik swears softly. “Relax,” he says again, but it’s like seeing a red-hot iron coming at his face and trying to bloody _relax._

“Do I have to do everything for you?” Shaw’s mocking voice cuts through the tension, and Erik shakes his head swiftly.

“Just a second. Charles, _breathe._ ”

Deep breaths, right, he can do this; he’s let Shaw fuck him before, and Shaw is so much more dangerous than Erik. Charles closes his eyes, but a disapproving noise from Shaw has him snapping them open again, shivering as he forces himself to breathe, long and slow. As he exhales, Erik moves even closer, and that’s his cock pressing against Charles’ hole, a relentless blunt pressure pushing at the ring of muscle. It feels like there’s no breath left in his lungs but Charles continues to exhale anyway, head pounding as he feels something _give,_ his body slowly opening for Erik because there’s no other choice, not really.

Erik goes slow and gentle. The discomfort throbbing through Charles’ body doesn’t abate, but at least there’s no pain. Mostly, Charles feels feverishly hot, muscles over-stretched and burning, spasms twitching through his whole body as he’s slowly impaled on Erik’s cock.

It’s not so different from how it had been with Shaw.

The ceiling overhead glitters with tiles arrayed in complex geometrical shapes, shining gold as they catch the light of the candles. Charles keeps his eyes fixed there as Erik finally bottoms out and pauses, giving him a moment to adjust, although Charles wishes he wouldn’t. It’s easier when he doesn’t have the space to think. Biting his lip, he braces one hand against Erik’s hip, trying to communicate without words to _get a move on, let’s finish this._

Erik frowns, painstakingly careful as he draws back slightly, all his thoughts focused on finding that precise balance between satisfying Shaw and not hurting Charles. It would be touching if the situation was less overwhelming; as it is, Charles keeps his telepathy leashed tight, wary of any accidental projections. He manages a small smile, the desire to soothe and reassure coming as naturally to him as his telepathy, but Erik doesn’t look at him.

Slowly, Erik moves in a series of shallow thrusts, each of them enough to make Charles feel overfull and helpless as his body rocks against the bed. Erik is so big inside him, hard and thick and unyielding.

It seems Shaw has the same thought. “Can you feel him? Feel how tight he is, feel the way he’s squeezing you with his whole body. He’s never had anyone before – well, aside from me. You’re giving him quite the experience, my boy.”

Charles _hisses_ as fingers – Shaw’s fingers – suddenly rub against the rim of his hole, where he and Erik are joined. “Very nice indeed,” Shaw says. “I should have you help me break in my bedslaves more often, eh?”

Erik makes no reply, but his vicious hatred blasts like a furnace, directed both at Shaw and himself, powerful enough to be felt even through Charles’ shields. Shaw slaps him on the back, all twisted paternal affection, and Erik’s next thrust is deeper, enough to jar a low groan out of Charles.

Gradually, Erik increases the pace, each steady thrust spreading Charles wide. Somewhere along the line Charles had started holding onto Erik, hands gripping at his hips and waist for support, and Erik grunts quietly as he fills him again and again. The discomfort is beginning to fade somewhat as his body adjusts, but the sense of _wrongness_ stays. Erik doesn’t help. For all his care, he’s methodical and closed-off, fucking Charles like it is a duty to be carried out. The muted coolness of his thoughts is utterly at odds with the heat of their bodies as they writhe together, seemingly locked together in passion as Erik holds him down and chases his climax while Charles moans, hole red and clenching around Erik’s cock, twitching helplessly from the rough use.

Some of Erik’s iron control slips, his rhythm stuttering. The next few thrusts jolt through Charles’ entire body, then Shaw is saying _very good, come for me now,_ and Erik makes a guttural noise and slams in deep, too deep, Charles letting out a high little noise of pain as Erik’s thick cock pulses inside him. Come spurts, wet heat splashing against his inner walls. Erik collapses on top of him, a heavy weight flush against his body, Charles’ cock trapped between the two of them. All Charles can feel is the rapid rise and fall of Erik’s chest as he comes down off his high.

He still doesn’t look Charles in the face, not even once.

Still buried inside him, Erik lifts his head, lips pressed into a thin line as he looks up at Shaw. “Thank you,” he says as if by rote, “for your generous gift.”

“I only want the best for you.” Shaw slaps Charles’ flank, making him flinch and tighten around Erik; Erik exhales sharply. Shaw smiles. “He’s good, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Shall I clean him up for you?”

“Why the hurry? And after you’ve loosened him up so nicely, too! Come here, son, clean yourself up. The night is still young.”

Charles shudders as Erik pulls out, goose bumps breaking out over his skin. He feels loose and wet inside. Exposed. Obscene. His grip on the bedsheets tighten, wrist jerking in an aborted attempt to pull the blankets over himself. He risks a glance at Shaw, who is looking at Erik, of course, and Erik looks at no one, his head bowed as he cleans himself with the towel and washbasin that had been prepared before Charles had entered the room.

Once Erik is clean again, not a hair out of place, Shaw motions him back onto the bed. “Good. Now, sit – there, yes.”

The mattress dips under Erik’s weight as he settles himself next to Charles, close enough that Charles can feel the heat radiating off his body. Shaw nods, approving. “Now take his hands. Pin them up over his head. I want you to hold him down.”

Oh. _No._ Charles’ whole body goes rigid, heart rabbiting against his ribcage, but he knows better than to resist when Erik takes his wrists into his calloused hands just as Shaw had instructed. His arms are tugged up over his head, crossed at the wrists, Erik holding him down easily. Within moments, Charles can feel strain setting into his muscles and he winces in anticipation of the soreness he’ll be facing tomorrow.

But perhaps he should be more focused on the imminent future. Nervous as he is, the need to know what’s coming for him next wins out; Charles cranes his neck, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He had thought that Shaw might be planning to use some sort of toy on him, but no, Shaw is pulling out his cock, eyes slitted with gleaming satisfaction as he prowls forward.

“Try to hold him down firmly, hmm?” he tells Erik. “You know I forget my own strength, especially when I’m with such a pretty young thing. I’d hate for any accidents to happen.”

Charles shudders. His thighs twitch, hole clenching helplessly around empty air, but that only makes him even more aware of the slickness inside him, outside him, rimming his hole. There’s no hiding from it, not when Shaw says finally deigns to address him directly: “Spread your legs for me, _Lord_ Xavier. Wider. We’ll fuck that modesty out of you yet.”

When he isn’t quick enough to comply, Shaw grabs his legs and forcibly hoists them high, hooking them over his shoulders. Charles groans at the strain to his arms and back as his legs as Shaw surges forward, forcing him to bend double, hole exposed to the open air. There’s nowhere to hide. There’s no way to run. Shaw thrusts forward in a violent jerk of his hips, cock pushing at Charles’ entrance and then sinking _in,_ bottoming out in a single brutal stroke as Charles spasms and clenches around him, a shocked cry falling from his lips as Shaw fucks him open.

“Still tight,” Shaw remarks, grunting with pleasure. “You want another go at him after?”

Erik doesn’t reply. With another grunt, Shaw pulls back then slams into Charles once more, hard enough to jostle the entire bed. He starts fucking Charles in earnest, faster and rougher than Charles had ever been taken before, and Charles can’t stop himself anymore; he twists and writhes as Shaw pushes his body to the limits, bending him so far that he’s sure _something_ must snap…

Shouldn’t it be easier this time, when he’s still loose and wet from taking Erik’s cock not five minutes earlier? Charles cringes away from the thought, but there’s no escaping from it, just as there’s no escaping from Shaw. Shaw’s hands grope at his ass, bouncing him up to meet every single one of his violent thrusts, and Charles’ body seems determined to betray him, clinging and squeezing around Shaw’s cock like he can’t get enough of being fucked open and violated.

Charles realizes he’s struggling, trying to get his hands free, trying to push Shaw away. But Erik holds him in a grip of iron. _Calm,_ he’s trying to project, _it’ll be over soon._

_Not soon enough,_ Charles wants to shout, as Shaw thrusts deep, punching the air out of his lungs in a hoarse cry. Shaw yanks him up savagely again, grinding against his ass, he’s in so deep, too deep–

For the second time that night, Charles feels the wild throb and twitch of a cock inside him, another virtual stranger spilling his seed in wet messy spurts inside Charles. Fuck. He had just – he let _Shaw,_ that’s Shaw’s come inside him, Shaw’s and Erik’s both, he let himself be filled by two different men within the span of an hour–

Horror sets in, horror and shame and nausea, enough that he barely notices when Shaw eases back – god, that’s his semen trickling out of Charles’ hole now, or maybe it’s Erik’s, how could he have let this happen to him? – and Charles’ legs fall limply back onto the bed. Erik lets him go as well, but all Charles can do is lie there, stunned and despairing.

Dimly, from somewhere overhead, he hears voices. “Do you want him again?” Shaw asks conversationally. He barely sounds winded.

“I’ve had enough for one night,” is Erik’s curt reply. “Is there anything else you require?”

“Ahh, still so unfriendly,” Shaw chuckles. “What does it take to thaw out that ice of yours? Come, have a seat, drink with me. Let’s talk about the coming year.”

Charles, it seems, has already been forgotten. He hopes. He tries to be as quiet and invisible as possible, knowing he needs to calm his mind and regain his usual clarity of thought.

Then Shaw’s attention suddenly turns to him like an eagle stooping after prey, and Charles’ hopes of a quiet escape are dashed in an instant. “But let’s get rid of this first,” Shaw drawls, his colourless eyes pinning Charles in place. “Go on, get back to your room.”

Charles blinks, uncomprehending. Surely Shaw can’t mean for him to walk all the way back, looking like this?

Erik intervenes. “Why not let him use the baths first, he needs a wash.”

“No. No, I think not.” Shaw’s eyes never leave him, dragging deliberately down his body, lingering on the curve of his flushed cock, down to his slick and reddened hole. “ _Lord_ Xavier here,” his mouth twists in a sneer, “needs to learn his place. Who knows? Maybe he’ll come to enjoy it quickly. You–” he nods at Charles, “go on. No point getting dressed again, you’re just going to get those silks dirty with your filth. Get out.”

Oh, worse and worse, Shaw means for him to stagger through the hallways in the nude, his shame open for everyone to see. It doesn’t seem real, and Charles stays quiet and dazed as he listens to Erik argue: “With all due _respect,_ let me escort him. You don’t know who could be around at night.”

“They know better to touch my property,” Shaw says dismissively, then smirks again. “And I’m sure our Charles knows what to do if he runs into any trouble. He can be very accommodating, hmm?”

Erik opens his mouth, but Shaw interrupts him before he can speak. “Don’t tell me you’re soft on him, son.”

Fear flashes through Erik’s mind, bitter and acidic. “No,” he says quickly, too quickly. “I was only worried. About your property.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Shaw’s gaze turns back to him. For a helpless, furious moment, Charles thinks about wiping his mind, taking that idea and _ripping_ it out of his skull.

But he would have to tamper with Erik’s memories too. Charles can do it, he knows. It won’t even be terribly difficult. But psychic tampering leaves traces, traces Shaw might detect, and that’s without taking into account the telepaths in the service of Shaw who might pick up on his meddling and report it to Shaw in an attempt to curry favour.

It’s not worth it. It’s not worth something as trivial as his pride.

Under Shaw’s watchful gaze, Charles gingerly pulls himself to his feet. His muscles protest, the aches bone-deep, bruises darkening against his hips and ass. He shudders, flushing again, keenly aware of the drying come smeared against his hole and trailing down his inner thigh, and more aware still of the painful soreness that makes it hard to stand straight and walk properly. Charles gathers scraps of silk he had been wearing earlier, using some of it to shield himself, but it barely makes a difference.

Shaw is still watching him. He’s expecting Charles to beg him for mercy. More than that, he’s ghoulishly eager to deny Charles that mercy, to shove him out of the room and force him to parade down the halls.

Perhaps it would be wiser to do what Shaw expects, but the tattered remnants of Charles’ pride won’t let him. Smoothing away all traces of rebellion on his face, along with all his shame and humiliation, Charles bows down to Shaw.

Then he walks away.


	6. Post-party aftercare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H/C and aftercare after Shaw's party in chapter 2.

“And you… leave us for now, pet.” Shaw dismissed Erik without even a glance, now that Charles had so tenderly cared for him, even under Shaw’s gaze. Erik knew he wasn’t making things easy for Charles, that his fear and disgust had made it difficult for Charles to give Shaw the show he wanted, but he couldn’t… He couldn’t keep doing this. Not day after day. He wanted to stay, to beg for it to be him.

Charles looked towards him. _Be careful, please._

_You’re not seriously telling me to leave you? You know I can’t._ Certainty replaced Erik’s dazedness, and he wanted to fight, reaching out for the metal that adorned Charles. He’d long ago given up on escape, but he was willing to die to protect Charles.

_You can and you will. There’s nothing you can do here, Erik, and we both know it._ Charles’s voice is harsh, and the truth is painful. Erik could use all the tools at his disposal, could fight the way he used to, the way he had before he’d been crushed - and do nothing more than earn them both pain. 

_I know. But you’ll call for help if he steps over the line. Promise me._ Without looking towards Charles or Shaw, he stood up, smoothing the scraps of clothing he was wearing. He knew his words were meaningless, but he couldn’t face the idea of leaving Charles utterly defenceless. They’d both given Shaw what he wanted, the torment should be over now. He was unsteady on his feet, his body aching after so long on his knees, and he knew that Shaw’s feet would have left bruising on his ribs and his throat. He couldn’t remember a time when there weren’t mottled bruises across him, Shaw’s marks left on his skin.

But Charles sent him agreement, and for a moment he could feel Charles’s fear echoing his own. There was nothing more Erik wanted than to sweep Charles up into his arms. To hold him close and take him far away, to safety and the world he’d once known, the world he longed for. Somewhere without politics and terror and abuse.

Charles’s voice was still in his head. _This won’t last forever. That I promise you._ He looked away as Charles approached their lord, bowing sharply and walking away, each step agony at the knowledge he had betrayed Charles by leaving him there to his fate. He longed to collapse at the door, to wait for Charles, to carry him to clean himself at least. But if he was caught, they would both suffer for it, and it was that knowledge which guided him away towards the baths. His awareness stayed within Charles’s jewellery though, squeezing the bracelet undetectably, a silent promise that he wasn’t alone.

It was late enough that the baths were deserted, and he rinsed himself before stepping into the warm water. He reached for the oils he knew were reserved for Charles, and then carefully mixed in a couple that were meant to aid with peaceful sleep, and pain relief. The use of oils had always been a mystery to him, aside from his revulsion at the scent he was forced to wear, but Janos knew these things. The other man had been teaching him a little, and he made the most of that knowledge now. Charles deserved only the best. Erik would give him all he could.

He pulled a towel around his hips, waiting impatiently for Charles, determined not to rest until he knew that Charles was safe. He placed a towel over by the warm water pipes, so that he could wrap it around Charles and keep him warm, and fetched one of the delicate jewelled combs so that he could help Charles feel clean again. If Darwin, Alex or another servant had been around, he would have asked them to fetch some honey tea, but it would have to wait - he didn’t want Charles to find him missing when he finally escaped Shaw’s clutches. Trying to care for Charles, even in these small ways, helped to soothe Erik, calmed him. He focused on Charles’s jewellery, waiting for his approach.

Eventually, he felt him moving towards the doorway, and out into the corridor beyond. Gently tugging on his bracelet, Erik guided him towards the baths, waiting by the doorway. When Charles stumbled inside, he was beside him in an instant, wrapping his arms around him. Charles was shaking, and he just pulled Charles close, pressing his face into soft brown hair and running his hands up and down Charles's arms, trying to soothe him.  
"It's over. You did it," he promised him.

Charles didn’t reply - he was still shaking, so Erik just held him, pressing him close.  
“It’s over, you did so well, you’re safe now…” he told him tenderly, before beginning to ease away Charles’s silks, guiding him towards the baths. He eased the metal from Charles’s body with his powers, leaving only the bracelet Charles always wore. He looked over Charles’s pale skin. There didn’t look like there were any serious injuries, merely bruises, and Charles suffering exhaustion. He decided he’d help him wash and take him back to his room, to try and reassure him. It wasn’t enough - was never enough. But it was all he had to offer him.

He perched on the edge of the bath, not wanting to join Charles in there when he was naked, and knowing he risked Shaw’s anger if he caught them together. He ran his fingers through Charles’s hair, trying to ease out any knots that had formed when it had been tugged. He longed to just take Charles away, somewhere safe, and make it all alright, but he knew that he couldn’t do that right now. He pressed a kiss to Charles’s forehead.

“It’s alright, come on, let’s get you clean,” he murmured, feeling a little sick. Charles was hurting so badly, and he’d reacted when Charles’s mouth had been on him. Even if it had been necessary, it felt like a betrayal. Charles deserved so much more than that, than Erik just using him for pleasure. Cleaning him, holding him close, that was all Erik could offer as an apology - he knew he couldn’t ask Charles for forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it. “Your towel is just warming up on the pipes…”

Charles looked up at him, his beautiful eyes full of unshed tears, and Erik felt his gut twist at the knowledge he’d played a role in his lover’s pain.   
“Erik, I…” Charles began, then shook his head. _I need… I’m sorry, could you leave, I can’t…_ Erik could sense the revulsion and horror in Charles’s mind, strong enough to slip through the other man’s shielding.

Erik nodded, trying not to project his own nausea.  
“Of course. You can get to your room?” He asked carefully, his voice shaking a little. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Charles alone, but he could hardly force his presence on him when Charles was disgusted by him. 

Charles nodded, and reluctantly Erik pulled his ability from the bracelet Charles was still wearing, making his way back to his room. He’d failed Charles again. Charles had offered to use his ability - but maybe that wasn’t why he was angry. Maybe it was the way Erik had failed, incapable of giving Shaw what he wanted without Charles inside his mind, forcing him to actively participate in enabling his own humiliaiton.

He hesitated, staring at his bed, and he couldn’t bring himself to lay down there. 

Curling up on the floor was stupid. He knew that Shaw wouldn’t really mind, that he was only punishing himself. But he couldn’t bring himself to be comfortable, not when he knew how much he had hurt Charles, disgusted him. He shuddered, angry with himself for failing.

He refused to cry, balling up the anger and fear inside of him and pressing it deep inside.

There was a sudden crack, and the air smelled of sulfur. He cringed, wondering if Shaw was going to be requesting his presence again. He didn’t know if he could manage to lay there with Shaw’s hands on him. Not when he felt so unclean already. He’d just bathed but Charles’s dismissal made him feel like his skin was crawling.

“You look miserable.” Azazel muttered, gazing down at him. The bodyguard was wearing his black uniform as always, but he looked relaxed.

Erik turned his back to him, fairly sure that Shaw wasn’t going to request his presence if Azazel hadn’t immediately reached for him.  
“Not now, Azazel.”

“What you need?”

“Can you… can you check on Charles? Please?” Erik asked, ashamed of how his voice was shaking. 

There was a snort.  
“You still owe me.” Azazel insisted. From most of the guards, that would have been a threat, but Erik knew from past experience that Azazel’s idea of collecting on debt was asking him for some metal toy for his infant son.

“Just...just check Charles got back to his room. Please.”

There was another crack, and Erik was alone again.

***  
Charles shivered when Erik left, the comforting presence around his wrist withdrawing. He didn't deserve that kindness. He didn't know how he could look Erik in the eye when he'd come at Shaw's command.

He was too lost in his own pain to help Erik at that moment, too busy thinking over what had happened, what he had done. He had promised himself when he first arrived here that he’d find a way to use what he was given to help himself. But today, with those who were important to Marko so close, he had barely been able to skim their minds. Despite his attempts at fighting it, he felt like he was nothing more than a toy for Shaw’s amusement. 

Worst of all was the fear from Erik, who was always treated even worse than the rest of them. Erik who had come here to wait for him, made sure he would be comfortable, laced his bath water with healing and soothing oils. Erik who had tormented himself, picturing the pain that Charles might have been undergoing, when this time at least Shaw had treated him like a pampered pet. He shuddered, sinking into the water, letting it clean him. He glanced at his discarded clothes and jewellery, his fingers fidgeting with his bracelet because he didn’t want to let that go. A gift from Erik when they’d barely known each other, because Erik had had to make some jewellery for him and had a few scraps left over. Erik had asked him what he wanted, and for the first time since his arrival here, what he had wanted had mattered.

For a moment, Charles fiddled with the clasp, considering letting it drop into the water - but he couldn’t do that, not to Erik, who admitted it calmed him to feel the jewellery, to know that Charles was at least moving. Another comfort he stole from a man who had nothing at all.

There was a sharp burst of noise, and he found himself eye level with dark boots. Shivering a little, feeling suddenly naked, he glanced up to find Azazel staring down at him. He cringed, silently praying he wouldn’t be taken back to Shaw, not now. He didn’t think he could fake his way through another encounter.  
“You should be in room by now,” Azazel told him, walking over to grab the towel Erik had left to warm, and then holding it out towards him. 

Charles climbed out, wrapping it around him.  
“Sorry, I was cleaning.”

“Lies,” Azazel stared at him. “You were busy sulking. And Erik is as well. So what happen.”

“I… I don’t want to…” Charles muttered, drying himself, and walking over to grab some spare clothing. “I came.”

“And Erik is mad at you? He is hypocrite.”

“No!” Charles stared at Azazel in annoyance. “Erik would never be mad at me. I’m mad at me, I-”

“You react to someone touching you in way that feels good.” Azazel answered, his tail flicking from side to side. “Is normal. What is not normal, not now, is Erik lying on floor about to cry. And he still ask me to check on you.” The red man shook his head. Charles could feel his concern, the knowledge that they were playing a dangerous game - and the realisation that Azazel and Janos were as well. 

There was nothing said, as Charles pulled a robe around his shoulders, and then Azazel cleared his throat.  
“The delegation are staying for another few days. There is a chance you may be called upon again.” The man’s eyes met Charles’s, and he nodded slightly - their silent signal that he wanted Charles to use the telepathy that he had managed to hide. Charles obeyed. _Shaw is planning to make use of Janos and Erik tomorrow. Erik will need to be rested. He will not sleep on his own, not when he is hurting. I ask him what he wanted, and he just ask me to check on you. For his sake, if we go to your room… I can fetch him for you._

Charles swallowed down his disgust and anger at himself, and nodded sharply.   
“I can go to my room now.”

“I will escort you. Make sure you not try to run.” Azazel insisted, and Charles nodded, because they both knew why he was offering. Because of the potential for Charles being hurt if someone caught him alone. He left his jewellery for one of the servants to handle, and walked with Azazel back to his room.

Azazel locked him inside, the bolt sliding home with a clunk, and Charles took a moment to steady himself, with deep breaths, thinking over what had happened that evening. He hadn’t learned much. He’d had knowledge within his grasp and been too distressed, let it slip through his fingers, and that was a weakness that he couldn’t allow. He’d been humiliated in the eyes of the men that his father had once trusted, those he had chosen to elevate to higher status within his court. And he had wounded Erik, who was already holding on by his fingernails.

Charles knew it was foolish to love Erik, but there was a goodness and kindness to the other man, underneath all his anger and fury, which Charles had fallen for. 

There was the sudden crack of Azazel’s arrival, and a moment later he was gone.

Charles turned to meet Erik, who was stood in the centre of the room, his head bowed, shaking a little. Charles could feel the mixture of self-hatred and anger that bubbled inside of him.

“I’m sorry,” Erik murmured. “I didn’t want him to bring me here, I just wanted to know that you got back to your room alright, I wasn’t sure if you were injured or…” Erik looked straight ahead now, his fists curled up at his side, head raised - still the soldier he had once been.

“I’m fine.” Charles promised. _I just was embarrassed. He was gentle, but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you._

“You can. If it helps.” Erik said softly.

“It doesn’t help.” Charles knew he had to be brave. “Azazel said you were struggling?”

“Bed felt wrong,” Erik whispered. “Just… kept thinking about how many others I’ve lost and…” _and one day it’ll be you_. 

Charles was fairly sure he hadn’t meant to share that thought, but he’d heard it loudly, and he knew the truth of Erik’s fears. There was always a chance that Shaw would tire of him. With his status, he should live, but he could be gifted away to another kingdom on their lord’s whim.

“I’m still here for now.” Charles promised, walking over, interlacing their fingers and then guiding Erik towards his bed. “I’m here, and we can rest.”

Erik followed him, lying down on the bed where Charles wanted him, letting Charles curl up with his back against Erik’s front. It helped keep his injured spine comfortable, and Erik liked feeling useful. Erik’s hand brushed up and down Charles’s side, soothing him, slowing his breath and easing him towards breath.

Charles hesitated. He wanted to let Erik rest, but he had to warn him.  
“Azazel says you’re wanted again for tomorrow.”

Erik nodded, and Charles could feel him withdrawing a little, building up the defences he would need. But then warm kisses brushed against his ear, Erik enveloping him with fondness.  
“What do you need me to listen for?”

Charles smiled slightly. He hadn’t lost Erik, not tonight. He’d hold onto him for as long as he could. Erik hated politics, the interplay of etiquette which Charles found soothing. But for Charles, he was willing to try, and that meant the world. He pulled Erik to him, allowing his eyes to close as he attempted to explain to Erik what would be most useful to know.


	7. 5+1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik at one of Shaw's performances, through the eyes of six different people

Warren hated Erik.  
The spoiled brat of a peasant that lorded it over the rest of them, who got treated like their lord's prized pet, the slave who was normally found kneeling by their lord's feet, Shaw's fingers tangled in his hair. Not that he was in that position today. No, today he was getting to show off. It wasn't just Erik's birth that bothered Warren - he liked Alex and some of the other servants well enough. It was the fact that Erik put the rest of them in danger. He'd got some of their number sold off simply by going against their lord's wishes, and his powers were vicious and violent.

Warren couldn't hold back a scream as metal wrapped around the of his injured wing, securing itself either side of his most recent break, and lifting him off his feet, leaving him there with his feet dangling helplessly a few inches above the ground. He was spun slowly in the air, revealing his body to their lord, and the friend that was watching this little performance, and then Erik was stepping closer, pushing him back against the table that had been set up, and metal chains were landing across his wings, holding him pinned, spread out and on display, further chains wrapping around his ankles, spreading them.

"Beautiful," their lord whispered, and Warren knew it was not a compliment aimed at him.

"Does he please you?" Erik asked.

"Very much so, pet." Their lord indulged his favourite.

Warren bit down a growl, because he was meant to be playing the role of the meek, innocent virgin tonight. He couldn't let his anger show in case it shattered the illusion. He struggled, knowing the movements would leave bruises across his skin the next day, knowing that Shaw wanted to see them there. The chains held him tightly as he tried to fight his way free, risking shooting an angry glance at Erik who was now touching himself through the ridiculous outfit he was wearing.

It was Charles's quick, clever fingers that prepared Warren, and he was grateful for that, for the shy kisses pressed against his skin, for the tenderness that he was being shown when no one else would give him that. He felt sorry for Charles - he knew how often Shaw and Erik would pull him aside for private performances, how Erik fucked him at their lord's command, and yet Charles pretended to be fine, that he didn't care. Warren tried to help him even as he struggled for show, and as Charles lay on top of him to kiss him, then brush his hands down his sides. Charles pressed his face against the curve of Warren's neck, trying to bury his whimpers, and Warren nuzzled against him as best as he could.

"Charles, come and put that mouth of yours to use for Leland." Shaw called out, and the stage belonged just to Warren and Erik. Erik walked straight to him, pressing one finger into the heat of Warren's body, before he thrust in, hips rocking in small movements, fucking him. He reached out, fingers tugging at Warren's feathers, making him moan in pain as he tried to get away, and then Erik’s hands were either side of Warren's face as he thrust faster, chasing orgasm. Warren was still panting as Charles approached, and he whimpered as he waited to be whisked away to Shaw's bedroom, to be left still chained until Erik found a reason to release him. 

Charles was as careful as he could be, playing the part of the saint that found a wounded angel, and Warren tried to focus on his cues, the tenderness Charles showed him because Charles knew that this role was a difficult one, until eventually Charles was inside him, the movements slower and more careful. He could see Erik knelt once more between their Lord's feet, and he resisted the urge to scream. But then Azazel pulled him away, to Shaw's private chamber, to await their lord and perhaps his favourite pet.

He rested his face against the silk pillows, the metal on his wings heavy and ungainly, and started to sob. He knew that Shaw wouldn't mind catching him crying, he'd seemed pleased before, and he couldn't help thinking that Erik would be smug to know the pain he caused. He didn't want to give in and cry, but it was too much, being publicly fucked by a man he made no secret of hating. One day, he would find a way of getting revenge, and rescuing Charles.

***

Leland desired Erik, even if he knew he couldn’t have him.

He remembered the youth they’d first seen on the battlefield, commanding men twice his age without fear or hesitation, metal tearing through the air around him. He remembered the look Shaw had given him, the way he’d smirked and ordered that that youth was to be brought in alive. He’d doubted their king’s wisdom when he’d given that order.

He didn’t doubt it now. The youth was a man now, stood in the centre of the stage, calling metal to him, On the battlefield, he’d commanded weaponry easily, and that same skill showed now, as he pulled the angel off his feet, tiny shards of metal in the air, cutting through the thin fabric that covered him, the clothes seeming to shred themselves without a single cut blemishing the angel’s soft skin. He knew that the King had chosen to bruise but not scar the angel, and he could see why now. He looked so pure there, a contrast to the prisoner’s roughness.

The angel sounded so pretty being hurt, and it was the other toy that was offered to him. He used his mouth roughly, knowing that soon enough Shaw’s pet would have to get back to the stage show, but he kept looking towards the warrior, watching the way he moved, sauntering across to first abuse the angel, and then to kneel and serve the king, with no hint of shame. 

Peasants should always remember their place. The youth had tried to escape where he belonged, tried to bring down his betters simply because of his powers, but he had been wrong. He’d been put back where he belonged. He was kneeling at the king’s feet, and even though the little Westchesterian Lord was giving a wonderful show with the angel, Leland kept looking over towards the peasant, seeing how he seemed to relish the opportunity to pleasure their King. Where he belonged, and Shaw was the one to benefit from it.

Eventually, the king’s demonic guard took the angel away, and the King was finished with his little pet, sending him back onto the stage. It was a beautiful sight. The angel escaped, and the captor taking revenge on the beautiful naive ‘saint’ that had freed him from his bonds.

Metal wrapped around the ‘saint’s’ ankles and wrists, lifting him up and displaying him as he sobbed. A moment later, he was dropped back to the ground, halting only a few centimetres from the ground. He watched as the man called more metal over, the ‘saint’ sobbing desperately as he was violated, then his wrists tied behind him.

Then Erik, playing the role of the warrior, marched the ‘saint’ forwards, maneuvering him to kneel at the King’s feet.

“Well done, my boy,” the King praised, reaching out to stroke his fingers through the soldier’s hair, guiding him to the cushion beside him. The prisoner took his place, head bowed, the picture of submissive joy. No longer leading armies, or trying to resist Just kneeling where he belonged.

Leland laughed, and started to clap.

***

Shaw was amused by Erik.

He’d thought, when he’d first seen the boy in the battlefield, that he would have fun breaking him. He had expected a few weeks of entertainment. But years later, his favourite pet was still clinging to life, and showing no sign of stopping being a pleasure to play with. Erik’s attempts at murdering him had grown rarer, but each time he tried, they were more thought through, no longer quick attempts, but more carefully planned. So they’d reached a truce of sorts - Erik kept trying to live, and Shaw permitted it, breaking him down night by night.

The obvious fondness his pet had for his newest toy just added another layer to their games. It gave him a reason to keep little Lord Xavier in fairly good condition, and have him join in when they played. Like today’s little entertainment. He had to admit, he was impressed.

First thing this morning, he had woken to his boy’s eager mouth on his cock, sucking him just like he had told him to. Once he’d filled Erik’s mouth, he had pulled him up by his hair, guiding him so that he could look into those stunning, furious eyes, watching him as he swallowed.  
“I’ve got a few ideas for a little entertainment tonight, pet.” He could see the shadows in Erik’s eyes, knew that he hadn’t slept the previous night, lying awake beside him, stewing in self hatred. He had to trust that exhaustion wouldn’t stop him from performing.

There was a flicker of fear, in those strange eyes, and then he had nodded.  
“What did you have in mind?”

So Shaw had explained the little narrative he had in mind. He remembered there had been a time when he had fought every suggestion. This time though, there were only a couple of brief objections from his pet - that the angel’s wing was still recovering from a break and so he couldn’t be thrown by it, and that Charles wouldn’t have recovered from the toy Shaw had used on him the previous night. 

Erik was the most entertaining of pets, using his logical soldier’s mind to tackle problems, to plot out the humiliations of his friends. It wasn’t that Erik was a stupid toy, brainless and obedient. Far from it. And that made him far more fun than Shaw had ever had before.  
“You know what I like. And if I don’t get it, well, it’ll be the others that pay the price. I’m travelling in a few days, and you’ll be accompanying me, so you can’t be punished, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Erik answered, head lowered, but shoulders squared.

And that was the entertaining thing. Because Erik did understand. He might have preferred to die rather than to play a role in one of Shaw’s little performances. But he would deliver. He would perform exactly as Shaw would want. He would star in the performance, acting like a dream. Just because Shaw had threatened the others.

Shaw wasn’t blind to the tensions between his toys. He knew his angel hated Erik, that was part of the reason he wanted to include him. But even for the angel, Erik would humiliate himself. This show proved it now. Erik was never one to disappoint.

Erik looked rough with the angel, throwing him, but Shaw wasn’t a fool. He could recognise the careful splint he’d applied to the wing to avoid worsening the break. Rather than fuck Charles, he’d used his ability, binding him with his power and stopping him from thrashing - smart, because it would minimise injury. The show looked rougher than he had expected, but by the time it was finished both of his pets would still be ready to play.

He summoned Erik to kneel between his legs with a quick gesture, and Erik obeyed without hesitation. He knew there was metal on both of the other performers, wondered if Erik was tracking their movements even when his warm mouth served its purpose.

He couldn’t help smiling when little Lord Xavier was presented to him as the spoils of war, hands and feet bound. Erik bowed stiffly, still mostly dressed.  
“For you, my Lord.” Erik kept most of the bitterness out of his voice, and Shaw could tell that cost him.

“Well done, my boy,” he praised, reaching out to stroke his fingers through Erik’s curls before guiding him to the cushion beside him. He continued to pat and praise him, feeling the slight shudders that ran through Erik at being touched like that as Xavier waited for the game to end. Erik’s head was bowed, back straight, behaviour flawless: of course it was, with Xavier’s safety on the line.

Leland started to clap, and he smiled beneficently.  
“Well done,” he repeated, placing his fingers against Erik’s lips, smirking as he suckled on them as he’d been taught. “You two may go and rest now. Erik, I want you to bring my breakfast in the morning, and then escort my angel to McCoy.”

There was a slight tensing of Erik’s jaw, but he nodded, and Shaw decided that Erik had been obedient enough this evening to get away with one little moment of rebellion. A wave of Erik’s hand, and the bonds on Xavier released. Erik stood and walked away, not waiting for Xavier to catch up.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Shaw asked Leland.

***

Azazel respected Erik. 

He had admired him when they met in battle, a youth so confident in his mutation, but it was more recently that he’d realised how remarkable the man was. It didn’t mean he hadn’t hurt him - he had, on his majesty’s command. But he respected him. He was impressed by how hard Erik worked to keep them all safe.

Despite what some people thought, Azazel wasn’t a sadist. Given the choice between someone being hurt or no one being hurt, he’d have chosen the latter. But the simple fact was, no one being hurt wasn’t an option. Someone was going to suffer, either way, and Azazel was just grateful that his lover wasn’t the one getting hurt for today.

No one was being hurt as badly as they could have been. That was the thing about Erik - he was smart, and he approached issues like planning for a battle. Today, the king had briefed him, given him a few ideas of what he wanted for his performance. 

Azazel had gone to visit McCoy while their King spent his morning with his toy. They all knew that Shaw could control Erik, that he didn’t need to be guarded while with him. McCoy had appreciated the company, and as the two mutants whose skin marked them out, Azazel felt a degree of kinship with the other man. After a few minutes, Erik had strode in without knocking, his head held up proudly.

Hank had got to his feet instantly, concern written on his face. “Erik, are you-”

“I’m fine.” Erik answered. “I need your help.” 

“Anything I can do.”

“I know that Warren broke his wing the other week. How healed is it?”

“Not very,” Hank had sighed, stroking his hand through the fur on top of his head.

“He expects me to throw him around by his wings, lift him by them.” 

Hank had opened his mouth to object, and then he seemed to remember Azazel’s presence and fell quiet. 

“Teach me how to make a brace for it,” Erik instructed. “I’ll try and be careful, but if I can somehow brace the limb-”

Hank had grabbed some paper, and started to sketch it out. Erik stood beside him, watching him carefully, then pulling over a scrap of metal to shape it.

Now, Erik was using that carefully designed brace, to try and protect Warren’s wing even as he fucked him brutally for the King’s entertainment.

Azazel didn’t let his mind linger on the fact he was relieved he wasn’t expected to participate. He worked for his majesty, and sometimes that meant doing things he’d rather not. In all, participating in his performance was not as bad as slaughtering children, and Azazel had done that before. He served his king. But tonight, he wouldn’t be needed, and when finally permission came, he deposited Warren on their king’s bed. 

He stroked his fingers over delicate golden curls, and then returned, until eventually it was over, and he could go home.

He initially teleported to his bedroom, changing for his guard uniform to a more casual tunic and trousers, and then headed to his lover’s room.

Janos was sat up in bed, reading, with Kurt curled up on his lap. The boy was asleep, the tip of his tail against his lips to soothe himself. Janos was stroking the boy’s hair absentmindedly.

Azazel crouched, waving at his lover and walking closer. Janos looked up and smiled, hand spelling out a quick greeting, then leaning up and kissing Azazel. Azazel took a moment to focus on this scene, on the beauty of it, the safety.  
“Bad day?” Janos asked, all of his movements smooth.

“Good now.” Azazel promised, curling up beside his lover and his son.

*** 

Erik was disgusted with himself.

There was no excuse for how easily he gave Shaw what he wanted now. He wanted to still be fighting, the way he should have been, but he was too tired. Too weak to keep fighting. Too weak to keep the rest of them safe. But instead he became a tool to hurt the others, for Shaw’s sick pleasure. 

Days like this, he wasn’t sure who he despised more, Shaw or himself. Because here he was, rolling over for him, a weak pet. Obedient, and he hated that. But Shaw had been clear - if he didn’t get what he wanted, it would be the others who suffered. So he was going to do this right, just like he was meant to, and give the bastard what he wanted, and then when it was done he was going to go on a trip with the king. He wasn’t trusted, but the bastard was confident enough in his abilities to know that Erik couldn’t stop him. And the worst part was that he couldn’t. Shaw knew Erik. Knew how to play him, how to control him. And Erik hated that.

He served the man as he’d been told, raping Warren, kneeling between Shaw’s feet as he tracked the other two, trying to work out how long he had because getting the timing wrong could get someone punished. Using his mouth on him for the second time that day, the taste lingering in his mouth as he returned to Charles. He tried to project calm and reassurance towards him, even though he knew he’d already failed him by being angry. He didn’t want to hurt the empath more.

He reached out, wrapping metal around Charles’s ankles and wrists, lifting him carefully into the air, spinning him around, and dropping him. He’d told Charles he’d do that before, when he’d explained what he had planned to the two of them. Then he called metal to him, pressing metal into Charles’s body, making the base of it look large as he was careful to compress the rest, not to violate Charles too badly. Only once that was done did he float Charles to Shaw’s feet. He bowed in front of the man, like he was expected to.

“For you, my Lord,” Erik said softly, his voice carefully calm. They’d got through this. He didn’t want to fall at this last hurdle. He let himself be guided down to his cushion, to be patted and petted, Shaw’s fingers lingering as he bowed his head. He wished he could look over at Charles. He kept trying to press reassurance into his mind.

He heard Shaw’s guest applaud, as Shaw’s fingers pressed into his mouth. He sucked and licked on them, resisting the urge to pull away or bite down.

“You two may go and rest now. Erik, I want you to bring my breakfast in the morning, and then escort my angel to McCoy.”

That wasn’t good. It meant Shaw thought Warren would be in a bad way. But he let the fingers slip from his mouth, and nodded. He waved his hand, melting the metal that was on Charles, ensuring that Shaw didn’t see how little he’d been violated. That at least was a rebellion.

He stood, his knees aching, and walked out of the room. Once he was out of sight, he paused, sensing the metal that remained on Charles’s body. He stood still, until he could sense Charles leaving the room, and then he walked on. Charles wouldn’t want to see him after what he’d done.

***

Charles loved Erik.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that he was already playing a dangerous game, trying to put in place plans to overthrow Marko and Shaw both, to return in triumph. He’d exposed his telepathy once, and though he was certain that neither Azazel nor Janos would betray him, he’d still placed himself at risk. He couldn’t take on any other dangers. He couldn’t allow himself to feel affection for someone that was only a tool - but he loved Erik. Loved his passionate, fierce, deeply damaged mind. Loved how Erik could use his power, loved how he fought to keep them all safe even when he was full of hatred for himself. Charles had known many people ensnared in court politics, people who would backstab and argue to advance their own position. He’d known so few people who were good.

Erik was good, and he couldn’t see that in himself. Erik’s goodness shone out of him, even when he was sick with despair. It had lit up the room when Erik had stood with him and Warren earlier, giving them an idea of what would be happening. He’d given Warren a rough outline - Warren’s reluctance to know had been clear, and then for Charles he’d given him as detailed an account as he could, discussing with him what he would do, checking it was alright, momentarily reshaping one of his bracelets to demonstrate the metal toy he’d use, how he could condense the metal and thicken the base to prevent further damage to Charles’s already aching body.

Erik thought that he had been a soldier once, that he had fought before giving up. But Charles saw hm as a warrior now, fighting for the three of them. Despite Warren’s bitter anger, Erik was concerned. Erik was afraid, and that fear was for them. And every chance he got, Erik would try and smile at him, and throw a wave of reassurance at him.

When it was time for the performance, Erik had stuck to every step he had set out, almost delicate with them. It looked violent, but Erik was careful, and Charles couldn’t help being in awe, because no one having to coordinate their own abuse should be so in control and so gentle. 

Charles was presented, bound in metal, still with the taste of Leland in his mouth, and he could feel Erik’s disgust with himself as he knelt at Shaw’s feet. The performance was almost over, and still Erik was trying to give Charles comfort, to share thoughts of warmth and safety, memories of a life that Erik had lost long ago. These were moments that were sacred to the other man, but he defiled them by using them here to show kindness to Charles. 

The two of them were excused, and the metal pooled from him. Charles took a few gasping breaths, trying to steady himself. Erik’s mind lingered outside, and Charles pressed back a smile, but as he stepped out of the room Erik moved away. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence - Charles assumed Erik was tracking his jewellery, and avoiding him because he was lost in disgust. 

Erik’s thoughts rang out, full of blame for what had happened, anger at himself for the role he had played. He’d got the three of them through it, hadn’t even damaged the break in Warren’s wing. But Shaw had set this game up to wound Erik, to show him he couldn’t protect anyone, and it was working. Erik was suffering the torment that Shaw had planned for him.

Walking hurt. Not from Erik’s actions - he had done what he could to avoid it. But the games Shaw had played with him the day before still left him aching. Charles hurried though, running along the corridor.

Erik turned to face him, frowning, and then straightening his back, waiting for Charles to hit him. Charles could see the pain in his eyes, and he reached out, pressing his hand against the side of Erik’s face, the way he would a spooked horse.  
“Easy,” he murmured, smiling. “You’re headed the wrong way.”

“I was going to my room-”

“You don’t wish to bathe?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew how much of a comfort Erik found being clean when Shaw was finished with him.

“I thought you might want the baths, and didn’t…” Erik fell silent, but his thoughts carried on. _I didn’t want to make you feel trapped, didn’t think you’d want to see me, didn’t want to remind you_.

“I do want to clean up,” Charles agreed. “You did wonderfully, but my hip is still aching. I don’t suppose you’d be able to give me a massage?”

Erik’s eyes lit up with something that Charles had begun to learn was hope. Offer Erik something practical he could do, and he clung to it like a drowning man to a log. Erik had a remarkable mind, but he was a practical man, and he wanted to make things better. Giving him something to do let him feel comfort. So Charles made sure he always had small requests, tiny reassurances to provide to a man who had had so little.

“Of course. I didn’t put any strain on it with the bonds did I?” Erik asked, and it wasn’t out of a need for praise. It was a genuine question, so that next time he could do better. Charles gazed at those beautiful eyes, and shook his head. 

“You were marvellous, Erik. Come on, let’s clean up. Alex promised me he’d leave some candied apple for me in the baths, beside the pillar with the fruit on it.” 

“You need them more than me,” Erik said stubbornly, and Charles tried to crush down the wave of fondness he felt for him.

“There’ll be enough for both of us,” Charles promised him, making sure no minds were around before he embraced Erik briefly and led him towards the baths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us know if you have any ideas!


	8. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik learns there is more to Charles's ability than he has shown.

“Red?” Kurt asked, pointing one blue finger at the piece of copper that had once been a cup. The handle had snapped off, and so the cook had thrown it, and Erik had grabbed it because he didn’t believe in wasting metal.

“Okay, red it is.” Erik called the metal to him, twisting it in the air, making it float in front of the toddler. Kurt giggled, his tail wiggling as he reached for it, bouncing on Erik’s lap. Erik smiled to himself. He and Azazel didn’t always see eye to eye, especially where Shaw was concerned, but looking after Kurt - Kurt was one of the few things in Erik’s life that brought him joy. The little boy giggled as Erik fashioned a rattle for him, tearing tiny pieces off silver and gold jewellery to make beads on it. He handed it to Kurt, who shook it with a giggle of joy. 

With a flick of his fingers, Erik added a loop to the handle. Kurt giggled again and wrapped his tail around it, the tip poking through the gap so that he could grip it tighter as he gave it a determined shake. Erik carefully raised some more of the metal, trying to ensure it wouldn’t make too loud a noise. Kurt beamed up at him, tiny fangs sparkling, and Erik couldn’t help laughing as well. 

Looking at Kurt, Erik remembered Magda, the girl he’d loved, the girl that hadn’t survived the rebellion. If his life had gone the way it should have done, he might well have had a son of his own by now. A child to teach and to love. Perhaps his son would shared his own affinity for metal, would have been able to make things, craft weapons and tools and toys. He’d never have learned to craft the jewellery that Shaw favoured, nothing so refined. Just pieces of iron. Maybe his son would have fought like he had, or maybe Magda would have stopped him. He blinked, trying to stay calm as her smile burned in his memory. He wished he could have introduced her to Charles. They were both so much better than him, he was sure they’d have got on.

“Sad?” Kurt asked softly, reaching out and patting his strange hands through Erik’s hair. 

“Not sad, promise,” Erik told him, using his ability to rattle the metal. With Shaw busy with Warren, and Azazel and Janos making the most of their time, he was happy to look after the little one. He’d always dreamed of being a father. “I know…” He glanced at the remaining metal scraps he was using, and then smirked, shaping the leftover copper into a humanoid figure with a pointed tail, then added gunmetal over it as Azazel’s uniform, forming the man’s rough shape. He added gunmetal to the top, forming hair, and held it up for Kurt to see.

Kurt reached for it with both hands.  
“Papa!” He squealed, and Erik laughed, handing the toy over to the little boy, who cuddled it tightly, another yawn revealing those pointed fangs.

“Yes, that’s your Papa!” Erik smiled to himself, making sure the boy was distracted before he went over to a chest of drawers, carefully removing anything unsuitable for small eyes from the bottom drawer and then placing a soft blanket in it. He took a pillow as well, making sure it would be comfortable for the boy.

“Bed time, little one.”

“Not tired…” Kurt yawned, playing with his little Azazel-doll.

“Okay, well, how about you tuck up with your Papa doll and show him how you sleep? And then once he’s gone to sleep you can get up again?” Erik suggested.

Kurt nodded, going to clamber into the drawer, and Erik made sure he was comfortable, tucking the blanket around him. Kurt yawned again, and after a few moments the rattle slipped from his tail. Erik caught it before it made a noise, placing it on the pillow beside the boy, then returning to his bed and picking up the book he’d been reading before Azazel had appeared. It was one Charles had recommended, full of myths, a few stories he could remember from childhood, and others he’d never heard before.

Erik’s own eyelids were growing tired by the time there was the sudden crack in the air and the scent of smoke which marked Azazel’s arrival. Azazel paused beside the improvised cot, staring at his little boy with a fond smile on his face.

“He was not bother?” Azazel asked carefully, brushing a strand of hair out of Kurt’s face.

“He was perfect.” Erik reassured him. “He always is.”

“Such a good boy.” Azazel said fondly. “You make him a new rattle?”

“Out of scraps,” Erik said quickly, not wanting to be in trouble. But then Azazel smiled. He never got angry about things like that - as far as he was concerned, everyone should spoil Kurt. He and Janos certainly did what they could to look after the boy. 

“Thank you. I’m sure he loves.” Azazel smiled, carefully lifting Kurt up into his arms, leaving him wrapped in the little blanket Erik had provided. “I return blanket later.”

“There’s no rush, Kurt looks comfortable there.” Erik said fondly. “Let me know if you need someone to keep an eye on him again. And I know Charles is happy to help as well.”

He is,” Azazel agreed, staring down at his son as though amazed to be able to hold him. “I… I can never thank Charles enough for what he did for him.”

Erik frowned. Charles had definitely been an enthusiastic babysitter, but the way Azazel was speaking, it was something more than that.  
“What do you mean?”

Azazel shook his head.   
“I was clumsy. Careless. Shaw… found Janos and I, and Kurt. Just talking. We’d been playing with those teacup you had made, with Kurt. Kurt was laughing. And Shaw..found us, and...he would have killed us, if your Charles hadn’t help. Hadn’t made him forget. We were lucky.”

Erik nodded, feeling a little dizzy. Because yes, Charles was a telepath. He talked to Erik’s mind when he could, simple sentences they could share if they both concentrated, and he’d called out in pain more than once, but he wasn’t… Charles wasn’t powerful. If Charles had been powerful, he could have put a stop to the torment they endured every day. But Charles was weak for a telepath, good only for party tricks.

“Thank again for your care,” Azazel murmured, and disappeared with Kurt, leaving only the smell of sulphur behind.

Erik was glad he was already sat in the bed, or he would have stumbled into it, the room spinning around him. 

Charles had lied to him - he was sure of that. Azazel had no reason to lie about the extent of Charles’s power, and while he’d played mind games on him before, he’d never done something like that. It wasn’t Azazel’s style. He wasn’t that kind of a man. So Charles was far more powerful than he’d been letting on.

Erik needed to talk to him, to challenge him about what had happened, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t just walk across to Charles’s room and ask when their doors were unlocked in the morning - if he’d tried, and Charles was that powerful, it would be easy for him to snatch the thought from Erik’s mind and make him forget. 

Erik felt a wave of nausea swell through him as he wondered if this had happened before, how many times he had thought he had discovered Charles’s secret only for the other man to snatch the knowledge from his mind.

But leaving himself a note could doom Charles if it was discovered. If Shaw or one of his lackies found it, then Charles would be destroyed. He’d been lying since he first arrived here. The only question was who he had been lying to - if it was everyone other than Erik, or Erik as well.

Something that would jog his memory, but couldn’t be discovered by someone else.

He frowned, then went to his jewellery box, taking out a slab of metal he’d been gifted by Shaw. He focused on it, shaping a hollow inside of it, writing out a message. ‘Charles is powerful’ he wrote with his ability, knowing that no one else would be able to uncover it from within the centre of the bar. He placed the box beside his bed, the metal inside of it, security to ensure that if Charles took the memory, he would notice this. Of course, there was the chance Charles could take his knowledge of this as well… he shuddered, remembering times that Frost had toyed with his mind, threatening to take his memories and turn him into little more than the King’s pet. 

He had to trust Charles. But it was clear Charles was lying.

Normally, he didn’t find it too hard to sleep, aside from when he was lying beside the king. But that night sleep evaded him, and he was haunted by his fear. Eventually, as the bright colours of dawn slipped through the window, he reached out for Charles’s mind the way Charles had taught him.  
 _We need to speak._

 _Good morning to you too, Erik._ Charles greeted him, a teasing note to his voice, amusement that Erik couldn’t return. Not when he was caught up with the knowledge that Charles had been lying to him from the moment they had first met.

 _I suppose we do need to speak._ Charles’s voice rang through him, and everything was confirmed. He was powerful. Azazel hadn’t lied, but Charles had, ever since they met.

 _I want to do this face to face. Can you see if we’re wanted this morning?_ Erik asked, even if he already knew the truth, even if he didn’t want to know. The wave of agreement he got in return wasn’t a comfort.

_We’re not wanted. I’ll come to your room after breakfast._

_I’d rather come to your room._ Erik insisted, being as brave as he could manage, when faced with a ludicrously powerful telepath.

 _As you wish._ Charles’s voice sounded cold, and he pulled away after a few moments, leaving Erik feeling alone and afraid. He tried to stay calm, to pretend that everything was fine. And it worked, to an extent. 

Their doors were unlocked, breakfast was brought, and he ate it, and then he crossed the corridors to Charles’s room. He opened the door, and closed it behind him with a flick of his power. Charles’s room, unlike his own, had a metal lock, so he could fasten or open it at will. Charles looked at him blankly for a moment, and then nodded.  
“You found out.”

“Azazel told me. Not… not deliberately. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, you know that? He… He was genuinely grateful.”

“I know. What would have happened if I hadn’t interferred would have been unthinkable. I knew it was a risk, but it was worth it, for the safety of them and that boy-”

Erik held up his hand.  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you worrying, and because you’d think I could just… fix it.” Charles sighed.

“Because you can just fix it. Charles, from what Azazel said - you were able to steal a thought from his mind. You could do so much. You could… you could free us. All of us-”

“I could get us out. But I couldn’t maintain his hold, not with Emma. They’d come looking, or he’d fill his harem again,” Charles said, and Erik couldn’t understand that, how Charles could say he was able to get them out and then not do it. How Charles could let their pain and torment continue, day after day, when he could stop it with a thought if he wanted to.

“Because,” Charles reached out for Erik’s hand, and Erik nearly snatched his hand away, but made himself hold still, because even if Charles had lied - this was still Charles. This was still the man that Erik loved, despite all the danger. 

Charles smiled a little sadly, then carried on speaking. “Because this means I can try and keep us all alive. I might not be able to keep us safe, but I can keep us alive for now, until we get to the point where we are safe. And… one day, Erik, I promise you I am going to end this. I am going to destroy him. But I can’t do that yet.”

“Are you going to…” Erik started, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish the question. Was Charles going to take away his knowledge of this entire conversation, from some kind of idea of what their path should be.

Charles shook his head slowly.  
“I won’t take this from you. I want… I want to fix it. But I’m glad you know. Just… just give me time.”

Erik wasn’t sure he could do that, but he knew that he didn’t exactly have a choice. He nodded, looking into Charles's eyes.   
"When the time comes, I'm going to be here for you. I'll help you, however you need."

"I know you will," Charles agreed, and reached out towards him. Erik shook his head, taking a step away.

"I need... I need time to think. But don't worry, I won't tell." 

Feeling a little sick, he pulled away and headed back to his room. Charles's voice followed him. _It's going to be alright, Erik, I know what I'm doing._

Erik couldn't trust that. He couldn't trust Charles, not any more.


End file.
